Grim Hunt
by ashmanonar
Summary: Sirius Black is on the loose! Who better to hunt him down than the only practicing Wizard Private Investigator in Chicago. But nothing is ever simple for Harry Dresden...
1. Chapter 1

_Set after Dead Beat; some spoilers for Dresden Files and Harry Potter series. Some selections borrowed from various Dresden Files books._

* * *

Chapter 1

* * *

Don't borrow trouble. It's a motto I've come to embrace. The reason is that it will find you in its own good time anyways.

Which is why I was immediately concerned when I received the invitation (and stipend for travel expenses) to go to London for a case.

After the whole debacle in Evanston, where I'd been unceremoniously tapped as a Warden during an uprising of neo-necromancers, I was more wary of where my jobs came from. The Red Court hadn't gone away in the interim, while we were dealing with Native American spirits and body-snatchers. The Reds had actually scored one of their biggest ever victories against the Council; bad enough they had to recruit _me. _The Sidhe Courts were as active as ever, and constantly trying to ensnare me.

This led to some cause for concern when I identified the message I'd received (by mysterious means; it was put on my little kitchenette table, _inside a locked and warded apartment_.) I'd made some calls to people I knew had access; Murphy claimed ignorance, and Thomas had been gone for three days on whatever errands (read: females) took him across the city (one of them called him Toe-mas, which worried me in ways you can't fathom). Butters didn't know me well enough to get into my apartment yet. Eb McCoy was in Missouri. The only one I hadn't checked was Elaine, but last I heard she was in LA and didn't have time, funds, or inclination to come to my place and leave a prank.

The letter I'd been given was made of parchment, and written with what looked like a genuine quill, in clean handwriting.

_Who even makes parchment anymore?_

It was to the point and brief; a job was in the offing, certain to need my _unique_ skills. _Come to blah blah blah Charing Cross Road, London, United Kingdom, soonest convenience. A. P. W. B. Dumbledore._

I was tempted to pocket the money and just leave it be, considering it was a tidy sum (more than enough to cover a flight to London), but my moral sense kicked in (right after my pragmatic one). After all, the letter had been delivered to a locked and warded apartment, without any evidence to me at all of how it was done, apart from a single red-gold feather. Would it be a good idea to anger this person?

My outstanding moral sense (and justifiable paranoia) saw me getting a business class ticket to Heathrow from O'Hare. It was a red-eye flight, where I'd need to be up all night to maintain some form of control over my magic (via magical suppression spell; I'd thoroughly tested it during an appearance on the Larry Fowler show - hopefully I wasn't sitting next to a vampire on the flight) lest a bad dream leave us landed on a deserted island, Lord of the Flies style.

I hate my moral sense sometimes. My paranoia, though, gets quite cozy with me.

By the end of a flight whose normal disturbances were thankfully light, everybody else was sleeping, while I was forcibly willing myself to calmness; although there had been an alarming moment when one of the flight control computers went out.

Not sure what could have caused that. It certainly wasn't the wizard sitting halfway back near the wing, praying to whatever God would have me that the plane didn't crash. Must have been a parts failure.

Right.

A (blessedly) welcome reunion with Terra Firma followed when I got off the plane (I'm not a _bad_ flyer, just a nervous one.) The Ways weren't a real option at this point, as there had been reports and rumors from my Warden contacts that despite our guaranteed Way access from Winter, there were plenty of nasty Wyldfae that wanted a taste of wizard meat. This was was followed by a 40 minute ride in a smelly little cab to my hotel, garnished with 125 pounds of excitable dog; didn't they make cars designed for real people here?

Survey says; no. The cabbie was kind of a jerk, so I didn't feel bad when his radio stopped working correctly, instead playing Romanian pop music.

_Numa numa, _baby. My Murphyonic field hard at work, as Butters coined it; anything that _can_ go wrong _will_.

Thankfully, I'd perused the newspaper racks, for less fragile sources of information and entertainment (it was embarrassing, trying to pick out the right change). I picked through each paper quickly, scanning for keywords which popped up repeatedly. One name was of interest to me, for the number of times it popped up.

I was confused though, when I'd gotten out of the cab again (having paid off the cabbie with this weird Brit money) and didn't find the place I was looking for; the Leaky Cauldron. After 5 minutes of looking, my apparent rescuer appeared a few feet away.

"Mr. Dresden?"

I turned about on my heel, duster flapping, and laid eyes on an outlandish looking guy. If we were at a Lord of the Rings Convention, I'd have said he was a Gandalf impersonator. A pretty good one too, although the hat design was a bit off. Also, this Gandalf was a bit more colorblind than the book version would indicate.

"That's what it says on my boxers."

The old man smiled through his beard, and his eyes twinkled merrily. "Albus Dumbledore. I see you received my note."

"Uh, yea. Look, I hate to ask, in case there's been a horrible misunderstanding; you're wanting to hire my services for a real case, right? You're not just an unconventional conventionist?" I said, hearing the lyrics for The Time Warp echo in my head.

"Oh, we're quite willing to hire your services, Mr. Dresden. Ebenezar said, and I quote, 'You owe me for the satellite, hoss.' I'd be interested in hearing more about _that_ story, by the way."

_Shit_. He knew my old mentor and the only father figure I'd ever had. The man was also the Blackstaff, the only member of the Council allowed to totally disregard the laws at his convenience; he was an assassin, a killer, one that had been under orders to kill me if I got uppity when I was his apprentice. I hadn't gotten over that.

"Okay. You got somewhere we can sit down and talk about the job?"

"Of course. I've rented a room for us to meet in at the Cauldron."

"Uh...where is it? I've been looking for a while now." I said, looking around again. I noticed now that my eyes seemed to slide away from the building behind the old man; I focused harder and opened the Sight momentarily, and suddenly saw the aged wooden door, with a battered wooden sign overtop. Both door and sign, as well as the whole storefront, were laced with energy, pulsing with power. It was cloaked though, only revealing itself to someone who's looking already; and most wizards didn't just walk around with the Sight open. At least, sane wizards didn't.

"Ahh. Clever use of concealment." I murmured, dropping the Sight. The storefront stayed visible, and I guessed that because I'd blasted through the concealment the first time, I was more or less attuned to the door now.

"It works quite well against Muggles. I forgot that you aren't usually part of our world, so I assumed you'd be able to find the building. My apologies." he said, turning and heading for the door. I followed, staff in my leather-gloved hand. It clicked off the cobblestones directly in front of the ancient wooden door, and I pushed the door open as I walked through.

The place was a dive, looking like a role-player's dream. Dark, dreary, all in wood and antique glass...it looked like Billy, Georgia, and the rest of the Alphas should be sitting in here with me, setting off on our next dice-rolling adventure, not meeting with a Gandalf-impersonator and talking about a job; or maybe that's _exactly_ what we'd be _doing_.

Dumbledore nodded to the tragically stereotypical old bartender with a bit of a hunchback, cleaning glasses with a rag, who nodded back stoically. There were a number of other patrons, and more arriving for lunch; the usual handful of barflys that mumbled and cackled over pints of ale or a foamy concoction that looked like cider or something similar, and the rest were singles, pairs, or small families as well as a few small groups of kids. The kids all appeared to be between 10 and adult; some wore black robes with colorful badges on the front, while others wore either robes or quite conventional pants and shirts of various kinds and styles. The adults looked like either vanilla mortals, colorblind crossdressers, or a mix of the two.

Dumbledore led us up the stairs at the back, and to a room where he gestured inside with a wave. I stepped in warily (I've had enough clients try to kill me that I don't take _anything_ on face value anymore), examining the room for things I could use as weapons, worse come to worse.

Truth is, I felt naked. The damned airline restrictions on what you can carry on a plane left me with more or less just the magical items I was used to; no athame (an old K-bar combat knife), no gun (a Dirty Harry Special), just staff and rod and all the various implements I usually carried on me. No Bob either, as the airlines wouldn't look too kindly to finding a human skull in one's luggage. A couple of carved sticks and a bunch of weird jewelry was apparently acceptable, though.

I did have Mouse in the motel I was staying at; he was able to sleep through the flight, and had been indecently chipper during the cab ride to the motel. I didn't want to share the cab interior with him any longer though, unless I felt like having 125 lbs of dog sitting on my lap, so I left him to guard the fort.

The small room looked like it had been set up for meetings; a pair of battered wooden chairs and a thick oak table, with a chest of drawers off to the side. The lamps on the wall were conventional oil-burning lamps (or possibly even candles) which I lit with a whispered "_Flickum Bicus_". I turned to see Dumbledore closing the door behind him, but his eyes seemed to light up when I lit the lamps.

"Wandless. Quite remarkable."

"Uh, that's just a simple firelighting spell. I learned it when I was a kid."

That only seemed to spur him on. "Curiouser and curiouser. In any case, the reason I have asked you here is-"

"Sirius Black."

He looked faintly surprised at that, and It occurred to me that this was an unusual look on his face.

"How-"

"He's all over the papers, both the mundane UK papers I read this morning and the one I saw on the way up the stairs, the Oracle."

"Daily Prophet."

"Whatever. The point is, it's kid's play to connect the dots."

"I suppose that's why I was interested in hiring you in the first place."

"Well, let's cut the BS and you tell me some more about Sirius Black."

* * *

Turns out Sirius Black was a murderer. And a betrayer. That's...what, Seventh level of hell? I hadn't read my Dante in a while.

I could tell that Dumbledore was lying about something. What, I'm not sure. He described his view of Black as being two different frames; the eleven year old boy who eagerly was sorted into Gryffindor (whatever the hell _that_ was, other than a symbol in heraldry), befriended a werewolf, played pranks and "snogged" his way through every broom cupboard in Hogwarts; vs the twenty-something raving lunatic who'd betrayed some of his friends to He-Who-Must-Be-Hyphenated and killed his other best friend in cold blood, along with some collateral damage (in the form of a full dozen "muggles").

The whole image seemed off to me. Some of that may have been an artifact of an outsider looking in on the magical world, which seemed about 160* off kilter from normal (not completely turned around, but skewed). All the same, I'd developed an instinct over the years.

Somebody was lying. I wasn't sure where the lie was, but there was distrust and deception shot through the whole case.

This was nothing new to me.

* * *

As we were preparing to leave the Leaky Cauldron, my file folder stuffed with notes (I'd had to note down practically everything about the case, considering my unfamiliarity with the subject) a little owl fluttered down to Dumbledore. He took the note on its leg (wait, owls used for the mail?) and his face fell slightly.

"Oh, Harry." he whispered, but shook his head fractionally at me when I looked at him, thinking he was using my name. "Wrong Harry." he muttered.

"Trouble?"

"I fear that one of my students is going to need a place to stay for the night. He's apparently blown up his aunt."

I stood stunned for a moment, wondering at the cavalier way he referred to murder. He looked at me and chuckled.

"Oh, dear. You mistook me. He has reportedly inflated his Uncle's sister like a balloon, accidental magic I wouldn't have expected from a student past his first year. She must have been sorely trying."

"Jeez, you scared the crap out of me. I thought you meant he blew her to pieces." he chuckled again, without much mirth.

"I shall make arrangements with Tom for him to stay here. You may run into him from time to time if you come to the Cauldron before the First of September; he's a rather skinny boy with unruly black hair and green eyes."

"Should I be worried that he matches the description of the person you said Black betrayed and is probably after?"

"Harry Potter, the rather reluctant Boy-Who-Lived. And Black's godson."

That wasn't connected or troubling _at all_.

* * *

I arrived back at the cheap motel I'd taken a room in (generally for me, the cheaper the better. Cheap motels rarely had the modern amenities that broke down around me, so I generally never had to cover damages to room equipment) to the ecstatic greeting of an overgrown puppy.

"Hey, boy. All quiet on the home front?" I asked, rhetorically; if there _had_ been any trouble at the room, Mouse would have taken care of it. Expeditiously. Or at least made a hell of a racket.

The room was no more trashed than it had been by my original arrival, where my bags seemed to explode all over the room with the force of my unpacking. Mouse licked my hands enthusiastically. Once our traditional greeting had been observed, and I'd washed my hands of the remnants, I sat down at the small table and chair that had been provided with the "luxury" 2 bedroom accommodations. (My knees touched the bottom of the table, which was about 6 inches too short for even normal, non-giant sized people.)

I opened the folder of notes, and took out the copy of the Daily Prophet and the half dozen papers I'd bought earlier as well.

The picture on the Daily Prophet was moving, unlike the picture in the mundane press. Honestly, I loved magic as much as the rest, but this was just _showing off._

For a while, I didn't look at the notes, or even the words on the papers. I studied my quarry. The picture in the Prophet was the mugshot that had been taken the night of his arrest. The disheveled young man was screaming and yelling, (silently because of the lack of audio on the photo), and his eyes were wild and crazed.

I've met bad people before, and nearly become one myself; it's a war I wage every day. I've dealt with and killed one-trick-pony black sorcerers, Vampires of every stripe (White, Red, and Black), creatures out of the NeverNever, scions of said creatures, and even world-class necromancers while riding on Zombie Sue. Hey, it's not my fault that the Heirs of Kemmler had no imagination, and that I got to the dinosaur skeleton first.

I've also run into mundanes that run the gauntlet from sleazy, dangerous, beautiful, ugly, cunning, clever and thick. It's given me a bit of perspective on motivations and facial expressions.

Black _did_ look a bit crazed in the photo. But he also looked _stricken_. The despair was etched into his face, and his overwhelming madness seeped out of every pore and echoed in every silent scream.

I've known men (and women) to kill for money, power, envy, lust, and even wrath. All seven of the sins. This man (if he did indeed kill people) didn't kill for those reasons. His crimes must have been rooted in madness and despair, at the very least. If he were tried today, in the States, any competent lawyer could probably get him a plea bargain based on the insanity plea. It would be trading one prison cell for another, but the new cell would be very comfortable and padded, and come with an array of wonderful drugs standard issue.

And no Dementors. I shuddered a bit as I recalled what Dumbledore said about the creatures.

"_The guards of Azkaban are among the foulest creatures in the world. To be in their presence is to feel all warmth fleet away, and all your best memories vanish like smoke. Instead, all the worst of experiences are dredged up in their place, and you are forced to relive them over and over. Every memory of heartache, loss, pain, and regret is laid bare to you."_

Any culture that can guard even its relatively minor prisoners with what seemed to me to be Outsiders, creatures from outside our normal reality, and not subsequently commit suicide for sending these people to their worst hells, is not a society I'd really want to be a party to.

I shook my head to clear it of these thoughts, and got to work.

* * *

I shivered slightly as the small boat to Azkaban bucked and hopped on the cold North sea. My shivers weren't related to the cold though, as I had my trusty duster pulled tight around me, collar turned up against the wind.

The old boatman (what was referred to by the other wizards as a _squib_, although how _squib_ differed from _muggle_ baffled me, when both referred to somebody without magic) looked at me with pity, and tossed me what looked like a bar of chocolate.

"Fer later. Ye'll need it." he said, voice carrying just over the howling of the winds. I looked oddly at him for a moment, but thanked him anyways. The two aurors with me, ostensibly to protect me from Dementors (as I'd never faced one and had no clue how to deal with it) chuckled.

"He always does that." said the younger woman, her pink spiked hair clashing wildly with the dark blue auror robes. "Bloke has an obsession with chocolate."

"You didn't seem to mind on your first trip to Hell, junior Auror." said the other, a large imposing black man who reminded me of no-one else than Samuel L. Jackson. He had an earring in one ear, and wore his auror blues with what looked vaguely like an African pillbox hat.

Tonks and Shacklebolt had been placed more or less at my disposal for this trip and for future need; as far as I could determine, they were either my handlers or my guardians. Not being from this _wizarding world_, the overeager obliviators might accidentally erase my memories of magic if they ran across me.

That thought filled me with nearly as much dread as dealing with Dementors. People mucking about in my head is one of my top-five fears. Justified, as far as I could tell, by the crap I'd dealt with during my last case, dealing with that Corpsetaker bitch. Her (his?) grasp of mental magic was just a bit too advanced for my tastes.

"_You always were resistant to such magic, weren't you, my host?"_

I heard the whisper in my head, and tried my mightiest to ignore it. Lash would have no say in events, if I had anything to say about it. The little hitchhiker in my head was an annoying bitch, but occasionally useful, if I had to admit it. I'd probably be drawing on her skills for this case, and hopefully I could limit that. No reason to invite her in my head further.

We approached the dock at the imposing building that had seemed to spring forth out of the mists full-formed. It was triangular in shape, I could see; towering over us like the Monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey.

I fell asleep 35 minutes into that film last time I'd tried to watch it.

We stepped out onto the dock, and the little boatman hurried belowdecks on the small passenger boat, probably to get some coffee, I guessed; or maybe tea, given this was Britain. We were met by red-cloaked figures, ostensibly the human guards of Azkaban.

"Visitor for investigation of Black escape." Shacklebolt, my taller, darker guardian said. He handed over a small sheaf of parchment, and the lead guard riffled through it briefly.

"Go ahead. Wilkins, show them around."

"Right. This way, gentlemen." said the younger man on the right. He was brown-haired and -eyed, and looked too young to drink or vote. A second look at his eyes confirmed, though, that he was probably older than he looked, and that he was a hardened guard.

We walked in the lower entrance door, and Shacklebolt cast a spell. "Expecto Patronum."

A silvery-white creature that I recognized as a Lynx streamed out of his wand, and circled around us (not quite touching the ground). It prowled around us, and each time we passed within 20 feet of a Dementor, it bared its teeth and growled.

A guardian spirit. An Honest-to-God guardian spirit.

Color me impressed.

The spirit's warmth protected all of us from the aura of the Dementors, and we made our way up to the high-security section.

I had to scoff; the old-school way of imprisonment was iron bars in mildewed stone. Impressive, and it looked well-maintained, but not particularly secure. Even the detention area at the SI Headquarters in Chicago had stronger jail cells. I knew from personal experience; not that a Loup Garou can be held in by bars.

Intellectually I knew these cells were warded against most of their normal methods of escape; portkeys and apparition and probably even magic-use, but to my naked eye they looked...inconsequential.

No wonder the guy escaped.

"So what were the circumstances of his escape?"

"About 2 days after a visit by Minister Fudge, where he left behind his newspaper for Black to read, he apparently said he wanted to do the Crossword, Black was missed at a cell-check. We do them with humans once every 3 days or so, although Dementors are used to deliver food and such."

"Apparently one of the patrolling Dementors heard him to say; "he's at Hogwarts" in his sleep. Several times, as a matter of fact." Shacklebolt said, keeping an eye out for approaching Dementors as he held his guardian spirit up.

"So we know where he's headed, I guess."

"That's the best guess so far."

"What's the triggering action though? Can we get a copy of the paper he was given?"

"Sure, I think the Prophet would sell you a copy." Tonks said, my other, pinker companion.

"When we get back then."

We piled into Black's cell (with Samuel L. just outside it) and I began to investigate. I immediately decided against using the Sight; I didn't want to catch a Dementor in it as it passed by, nor did I really want to see the spiritual residue of centuries of despair and nightmares; each prisoner in here would be a well of madness.

Color me a coward; that sort of thing just doesn't float my boat.

I inspected his sleeping area, a straw pallet in the corner. It was soggy and mildewed, much like the rest of the place, but more interesting was the coarse black hair I found and collected for samples. Then, I checked the two places I most suspected of being used to escape; the window and the door. The window was high enough that those without stilts in their shoes, like myself, would have trouble reaching it. I inspected it visually, but it looked to be intact; a bit rusted and old, but not bad.

The door, a series of rusted iron bars, was pay dirt though. I found more of the coarse black hairs, and collected them in a separate film canister.

After a few more cursory checks, we left. As we were approaching the exit, Shacklebolt's patronus unexpectedly failed. A Dementor that was nearby immediately drew closer to me, surging forward like a predator.

My mind was immediately drawn to dark places. Not being a party to much else in my life, it was an easy road to go down. Memories flashed into my head.

_I was throwing myself at Cowl, feeling the hot sting of Kumori's knife on my throat, as I watched the spiraling vortex of the Darkhallow descend._

"_DIE ALONE!" and purple flash of light._

_I was reading the note and seeing the photograph that could land Murphy in jail or worse, of her blowing the hell out of a Renfield with a big old shotgun, while a centuries' old vampire leered at me._

_I heard the wrenching crack and saw Thomas fall from his father's arms, head twisted the wrong way. "NO!"_

"_Harry. Nicodemus is afraid of you. Afraid that you saw something. I don't know what." an old man wheezed with his dying breaths, as he lay tortured and mutilated in a desecrated chapel after sacrificing himself for me._

"_If you kill me, they will be executed. By surrendering, you preserve them. Your Miss Rodriguez. The policewoman. The investigator you apprenticed under. The owner of that bar. The Knight and his family. The old man in the Ozarks. The wolf-children at the university. All of them."_

_Ursiel charged towards me, eyes glowing green and orange, that damned sigil glowing in green on his bestial forehead, between the curling ram's horns and swirling patterns of runes._

_I saw Aurora dragging Lily to the Stone Table, obsidian knife in hand._

_I saw Susan's eyes fill up with blackness, and heard the vampiric hunger purring within her as she approached me sinuously._

_I was in the mud pit at Marcone's estate, Marcone dangling above and a loup garou snarling down at us._

_I looked up at the demon over me, as I hung from the railing by my handcuff link, seeing the flames glow prettily above._

_I felt the cold, damp stone of Edinburgh under my teenage knees, with that musty hood over my head, hands tied behind my back while old men with swords debated my fate in a language I didn't understand._

_I saw my old Master's body ignite in flames, from the power I'd been granted by Leanansidhe, saw my Elaine naked, covered in twisting, savage forms that were painted on her skin, as she had held the binding on me._

"_FUEGO!"_ I screamed, pushing my blasting rod forward, andfeeling my will spool into the implement, along with a tiny surge of the element called Hellfire.

I called forth combat fire for the first time since my hand was nearly burned off, and it responded.

The Dementor hesitated a moment, as my blasting rod glowed red, then white with power, then was enveloped in flames, terrible flames that clung to the offending creature like napalm. It shrieked terribly, like a Nazgul, wordless and formless but still burning.

The other Dementors nearby all surged away, not wanting to get anywhere close to me. The creature I'd struck with my power shuddered, and screeched, then finally the remnants of the burning robes collapsed to the ground, while a tiny shockwave of power detonated outwards.

I fell on my ass, blasting rod still held in front of me, panting like a dog. The aurors and the guard looked on in awe, as I successfully did what no other person in the history of Dementors had done; I destroyed one.

I was still panting with exertion when I looked up and saw the looks of awe and fear.

"I'll be goddamned." Shacklebolt murmured, then helped me up. "How in the hell did you manage that?"

"Uh, it was just fire." I lied, trying to catch my breath. Tonks still stayed a few feet away, her eyes wide and paler than any human being had any right. Wilkins looked like he was going to wet himself, or already had.

"We've used fire before to fight off these things. It doesn't _work_. Something different happened."

I thought back, remembering a time long ago when I was set upon by a creature I couldn't see, except in reflections, a monstrous creature with thick fur and razor claws. He Who Walks Behind. An Outsider, one of the descending hierarchy of their kind, a servant of the Old Ones.

"_You know the reason my Host, even if you don't recognize it yet."_

These Dementors must be cut from the same cloth, like a Mist fiend. They had the same cold, void feel of mordite. I shrugged. "I have a theory, but nothing substantial. Sorry about the mess."

"Heh, no problem. Self-defense and all that. You're not going to find too many advocates of Dementor welfare." Shacklebolt said, chuckling. "Remember what the boatman gave you."

"What?" I asked, confused. Then I remembered the chocolate. "You mean..."

"Yep. Chocolate's one of the best remedies for Dementor exposure."

"I'll be damned." I said, pulling the thick bar of chocolate out and opening the wrapper that said _Honeyduke's_. I took a bite and began to chew, immediately feeling the warmth spread through my body, warming a chill I hadn't realized I had. I took another two bites, then wrapped it up for later.

We made our way out of the prison, noticing that at each point where we'd have to pass a Dementor, they would shy away from me, getting as far as possible without abandoning their posts. I grinned, wishing that all of the myriad creatures I faced were that easy.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

* * *

Little Whinging, Surrey, was a lovely, suburban community, with rows of neatly kept gardens and houses that were freshly painted, and identically maintained.

I hated the place immediately.

The suburbs have always rubbed me the wrong way. Houses that looked like they were stamped out of the same mold, houses where people lived like rodents, scurrying back and forth to their jobs (usually a long way away, in the city). Places like this turned people frightened. Turned them into clones of each other.

I passed by the little house that I'd been given the address to; 4 Privet Drive. It was as unbearably normal as the others. The gardens were _very_ well kept. I saw, through the front picture window, a fat lump of a kid sitting on the couch, rotting his brain from two directions at once (with both sweets and television). A long-necked woman was bustling around, being domestic. I saw her peeking out her back window as I walked by, and had to shake my head. She caught a glance of me through the picture window as I walked by, and scowled; I probably wasn't fitting her notion of a perfect little surburban world. God knows a professional basketball-sized guy covered in scars, wearing one black glove and a heavy leather duster was not your average pedestrian. That was only reinforced by the woolly mammoth sized dog at my side.

We headed towards the play park down the road; a broken down hand-pushed merry go round swung lazily in the light breeze. A set of dilapidated swings moved idly, and the bushes and grass were overgrown.

This was where the Knight Bus had been called by Harry Potter, before he was delivered to the Leaky Cauldron.

Of course, Stan Shunpike on the Knight Bus had called him Neville Longbottom, but to be honest that guy was skirting the edges of idiocy anyways.

I looked idly around, searching for something...anything. Any clue that might point to Black.

A large black dog crept slowly out of the underbrush, and both Mouse and I spun on it. It was a scrawny, underfed thing. It looked relatively harmless though, despite its size. It was obviously being cautious, shying back when we saw it.

"Hey, boy. Or girl." I said, getting a (rather indignant) bark in response.

"Okay, boy then. Come here." I said, putting a slight command in my voice. I sat down on the broken spinning playground equipment, and pulled a few treats out of my pocket. I didn't often give them, as Mouse responded just as well to verbal praise, but it was handy to have a pocketful.

"Hungry?" I said, softly, as the big dog approached. He snatched the treat off my hand when he got close enough, but gently; I almost didn't feel the brush of his whiskers as the food disappeared. He backed off a few paces, but I saw his nose twitching towards me. He also kept an eye on Mouse warily, but the woolly dogasaurus just sat peacefully, watching him carefully.

The big dog approached again, reaching for another treat in my hand; this time, though, he didn't retreat. He stayed closer, and eagerly took the next treat as I pulled it. He finally got close enough for me to pet, and I rubbed his head gently; I could see the sparkle of intelligence in his eyes.

At that, the dog's barriers went down and he butted his head into me as he leaned up against my legs. I took a few minutes to just pet him, pulling out some of the tangles in his fur. Mouse now approached from the dog's head end, making sure he could see him; he sniffed the newcomer thoroughly, and gazed at the other big dog with his intelligent old eyes. Finally, Mouse looked up at me and chuffed once, giving me a doggy nod. The newcomer turned to check out Mouse, greeting him in doggy fashion (I really think humans should start sniffing each other's butts. It's a more realistic and honest introduction).

Soon enough the big black dog had apparently deemed Mouse unobjectionable, and came with us when we left the park. There hadn't been any man-sized prints there, just the prints from Harry Potter's sneakers and the pawprints from the stray.

I sat for a while longer, trying to decide what to do. I met the dog's eyes, and slowly smiled.

"Come on, boy. Let's get you something to eat."

The big dogs followed me like rats behind the Pied Piper.

Easiest way to a man's (or dog's) heart; his stomach.

* * *

We got off the Knight Bus, and I stumbled around a bit until I got my balance back; we went back into the small hotel I was staying at, where I got a nasty look from the desk lady at the second dog I'd acquired, but I just doffed her another hundred for the security deposit and she got friendlier.

I keyed into my room and locked it behind us; the twin bed room would probably be just big enough for the three of us. I set out a few bowls with food and water, and both dogs set to with a vengeance. It was dinner time already on the second day here, and I didn't really feel like I was any closer...except for one thing.

I pulled out the Daily Prophet that Auror Tonks had picked up for me and studied it; the crosswords seemed pretty normal, considering, so I figured that was a ruse at best by Black.

So I checked the first thing one usually does; the front page. It was an announcement of a family having won a sweepstakes of sorts; a whole gang of redheads had taken a picture in front of a pyramid, and I assumed they'd taken a trip to Egypt. The kids in the picture goofed off, mugging for the camera (which was actually visible in the moving wizard photo). I studied the picture, absorbing the details; 7 "kids", two parents, Egypt, Sweepstakes, rat in pocket, haunted look in the girl's eyes...

Nothing really leapt out at me right now.

I sighed and flopped back onto the bed, closing my eyes to think for a bit; I felt the bed shift as a dog climbed up on each side of me, curling up under my arms. I dozed off to sleep, questions chasing each other through my head like cats and dogs.

* * *

I woke suddenly, from the streaming light in my face. I hadn't really intended to fall asleep in my clothes, but dealing with the Dementor the other day had been exhausting.

Something bothered me about the case. I had notes that I had taken, and anecdotes from participants, but there hadn't been any official documentation regarding Black. I decided to check that out soon today. If they had any information on him, it would at least give me some direction.

I fed the dogs again, noting that the bag of food I'd bought for Mouse probably wouldn't last long with the two here. "I guess I'll have to grab another bag, huh guys?" I said to myself. The chuffing sound from Mouse and the hesitant 'woof' from the black dog were all the answer I needed.

"Okay, guys. I've got to run for the day. I'll try to be back when I can to let you out, and feed you. Don't tear the place up while I'm gone, Capiche?"

A round of doggy nodding convinced me that I'd need my head examined. _Talking to dogs, honestly._

"_My Host, you would not speak to them if you weren't sure they could answer."_

_Shoo. I don't have the time or energy to deal with you today._

"_Very well. If I may impart a word of warning; not all is as it seems."_

"When is it ever?" I said out loud, to one confused doggy look and one roll of doggy eyes.

I shut the door behind me, and headed out to call the Knight Bus.

* * *

With a _BANG_, the Knight bus left from the gates of Hogwarts; being a wizard, and having defeated the Leaky Cauldron's concealment, the wards at Hogwarts had apparently chosen to allowed me entry, instead of displaying the ruins of a castle that should be displayed.

I knocked on the gates, and they swung open. I walked through, heading towards the main doors, when I was approached by a mountain of a man. There aren't many people who can lay claim to being taller than me, but this guy seemed to take the cake.

"Allo there!" he said, in a very "outdoor" voice. "Wha' brin's ya t'Ogwarts?"

"I need to speak with the Headmaster."

"A'course, a'course. Follow me." he said, leading the way. As we walked, he turned and introduced himself.

"Name's Rubeus Hagrid. Jus' call me Hagrid, everybody does, 'cept th' Headmaster."

"Harry Dresden. From Chicago."

"Where's that, then?"

"Illinois. The States."

"Ahh!" he said, grinning. "Bet you've seen all manner of interestin' beastie out there."

"You have no idea." I said, chuckling.

Hagrid led me all the way into the castle, making small talk; I learned that he was a fixture around the castle, that he was interested in all sorts of creatures, and that he was the Gamekeeper; although this year would be his first teaching the Creature class. I also learned that he'd known Sirius Black ("'e handed little 'arry right over t'me, an' gave me 'is motorbike to get 'im to safety. If I'da known...")

Nice guy, but a bit obtuse. Not a bad bone, though.

Hagrid gave the password for the Gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office (Ice Mice?) and the stairwell moved upwards, depositing me on a landing.

"Come in, Mr. Dresden." I heard through the door. I chuckled, and stepped in.

"Professor. I just wanted to talk with you quickly, and I wanted to see if you could put me in touch with your government. I wanted to take a look at some records."

"Of course, of course. Please, sit. Tea?"

"Don't drink it, thanks though."

"So what questions were you wanting to ask? I hope you're well after your experience at Azkaban, by the way."

"Oh, I'm fine. Little freaked at the time, but the thing just got too close. One thing I've learned is that while I can call upon the forces of nature, when I'm going hand to hand with some sort of supernatural nastie, I'm just a monkey with a stick."

He chuckled. "Indeed. I understand the Department of Mysteries was interested in speaking with you, to learn how you did it."

"If they'll pay for my time, sure. Otherwise, I'm still on the case."

"Of course. What were your questions?"

"First off, I'm led to understand that Sirius Black's last known position before the attack in Camdentowne which killed Pettigrew was at the house where the Potters died. Why, if he was suspected at the time, was he allowed to go free?"

"Unfortunately, I hadn't been there at the time, and only Hagrid came across him at the house. Hagrid received young Harry from him, as well as his motorbike, which he used to deliver young Harry to his home on Privet Drive."

"The same 'home' that he was forced to flee the other day after accidentally blowing up his non-related aunt."

He sighed. "Yes."

"Hmm. Alright, second question. Who do I talk to to get access to Black's records? Arrest records, trial, etc."

"The Department of Magical Law Enforcement would be your next stop, if that's the case. It is they who control the Auror office, whose members you've already worked with. I cannot remember exactly when his trial was; there was a great deal of activity that occurred right about the end of Voldemort's reign of terror."

"They'll have that information. No government ever throws out records, unless they're trying to hide something."

"There is that."

"Okay. I heard from the Azkaban guards that Black was given a paper before he fled; the cover of the paper has a picture with the Weasley family on it. Could they have some significance?"

"Hmm. The Weasleys are connected to young Harry Potter, Black's godson. He is friends with their youngest son. The Weasleys are quite safe at the moment, being in Egypt."

"I figured. Okay, I'd like to talk to them sooner rather than later. When they get back though. I'd also like to talk to Potter, if that's possible."

He thought, then slowly nodded. "That should be no trouble. He has a room at the Leaky Cauldron, but I'll send him a note to expect a meeting with you...when?"

"Today, if possible. I might take him out for lunch or something. Easy way to get into a kid's good graces."

He chuckled. "Certainly it is. I don't see any problem with him leaving the Cauldron, so long as he's accompanied by an adult. I would prefer he doesn't wander in muggle London without escort, though. The Alley is relatively safe for him, and there are guards he is unaware of."

I nodded. "Okay. Can you send that note? I'll meet him at the Cauldron at 11:30."

"Wonderful. I'm sure he'll enjoy the chance to get out for a bit. Do be careful what you tell him; he does not need to know everything. I worry that he might go out after Black alone."

"I'll tell him the truth. He deserves that much." I said, resolutely. Dumbledore sighed, and nodded.

"As you say."

"Also, is there anybody who knew Black that I could talk to? While I'm here?"

"Perhaps Professor Lupin is available. Let's go to see him." Dumbledore said, getting up quickly; he seemed to want to escape the layer of tension that had descended on his office.

We wound our way through the halls, up and down stairs seemingly at random. How kids went to school here, I don't know. We finally found ourselves heading towards an office, set at the top of a stairway; a knock at the door brought a man up to the door, opening it and allowing us in.

I studied the man; he wasn't old, and couldn't have been older than me, but he was graying and slightly balding, looking rather stressed. His mustache was disheveled and a bit limp, and his face had several prominent scars across it. His eyes were a warm brown, with a touch of amber; an unusual color. His clothes were shabby and well-patched, thin at the knees and elbows; he had adopted an academic style, with robes that looked like a tweed suit.

"Hello, Headmaster. Who is our guest?"

"Remus Lupin, may I present Mr. Harry Dresden. Mr. Dresden is a private investigator that I have retained. He is looking into the Sirius Black affair."

Lupin deflated as Dumbledore spoke. "Ahh. Well, then. I don't know how much help I can be..."

"I really just want to get a feel for the type of man Sirius was." I said, looking at him earnestly. He finally nodded, settling back in his wooden office chair.

"I'll be off, then. Remus, if you could escort Mr. Dresden out once you're done?"

"Certainly, Albus. Thanks." Lupin said, smiling vainly at the Headmaster, who made his way out.

"Relax, Remus...do you mind if I call you Remus? You can call me Harry."

"Not at all."

"Alright. Dumbledore told me somewhat of what kind of person Black was. Could you describe any relationship you had with him?"

"Sirius and I met on the Hogwarts Express, in September of our first year. We also met James Potter at the same time. James and Sirius were two of a kind...young scions of noble lords. I was from a very average middle-class family, and a bit of an outcast...for several reasons." I read his hesitation, and started to notice things about him.

"Both James and Sirius were not the stuffy sort of lords' sons, though. They were very friendly, and accepted me from the beginning. We spent a train ride in laughter." he said, his face taking on a reminiscent quality.

"The three of us were sorted to Gryffindor, one of the houses of Hogwarts, along with another boy, Peter Pettigrew. The four of us were thick as thieves right from the start. At first we grouped up for the purposes of learning as much as we could...but both James and Sirius were pranksters at heart. I enjoy the good prank myself.

"The thing was, it was a dark time in our world. There were disappearances and murders, and each year we lost classmates. Our pranking was our attempt to shed a little light on the world, and to fight back against the Death Eaters the only way we could; their children we were students with. We were good at it, I daresay. A few times the pranks went too far, as they always did. But we stayed friends all through school, and afterwards."

"What was the last time you saw him?"

"At Harry's first birthday party. I left on a mission right afterwards, on the Continent, and I didn't get back for months. I only heard about the deaths by owl. I tried to find a way to see Harry more often, but..."

"But?"

"Dumbledore suggested it wouldn't be a good idea. My status with the government notwithstanding, his muggle family were not keen on dealing with anything magical."

_That's the second clue we've had about his family. Why would Dumbledore send him there, when there's all sorts of evidence that he's not happy there?_

"_My Host, I don't presume to understand the old man. His actions that we know of are baffling. Perhaps we should ask the boy himself?"_

_When we meet him later. _

"You didn't question it?"

"I've become accustomed to being denied what I wish. Besides, I was not in a good frame of mind at the time."

"Because of Black?"

"Because I lost my entire pack. Er, family."

_Pack?_

"_My Host, I think he's a lycanthrope."_

_Makes sense._

"_It does?"_

_I've dealt with them before. You should know that. Macfinn wasn't an evil man, just cursed._

I nodded understandingly. Finally, I tried my last tack.

"Was there any unusual ability that you four shared, or some secret that bound you together?"

He hesitated, and looked at me curiously. I decided to go ahead with it, and met his eyes forcefully, and felt myself falling inward...

_A younger, more vital Lupin stood there, flanked by a cadre of ghosts; a young man with round spectacles and messy hair, a beautiful young woman with auburn hair holding a baby boy, a small, rotund looking man with chubby, sharp features, and a tall, aristocratic young man with long, glossy hair and an irreverent smile that I recognized as a younger Black._

_In Lupin's hands was a leash, and snarling at the end of the leash, was a massive wolf; as big as the Loup Garou I'd faced years ago; it strained and pulled at the leash, and Lupin appeared to weaken slightly each time it pulled, as a shifting moon rose higher overhead, changing from new phase to full phase._

_As it reached its peak, the wolf turned on Remus and leapt towards him, blurring as they merged; the ghosts beside him blurred away, shifting into different forms; stag, doe, fawn, dog, and rat, as they backed away from the howling wolf that stood where Remus had once; it had greying brown fur and glowing amber eyes, and snarled as it slowly stalked towards me..._

I felt the sensation of being sucked backwards, and found myself facing Remus once again. He was paler than before, if that was possible; he looked as white as a sheet.

I'd never found out what my Soulgaze looked like; nobody ever had the heart (or stomach) to tell me, and I didn't look too closely in mirrors. I can guess, considering what I've faced and done in my life...and I don't want to know.

"Merlin's blood..." he whispered. "What in the bloody hell was that?"

I sighed. "Soulgaze. It allows us to look into each other in the most profound way, to know things about the other that most people never acknowledge or even notice. I know about your furry little problem, by the way. It doesn't bother me. One of the more decent people I ever knew was a werewolf, called a Loup Garou. I unfortunately had to kill him."

He choked, and coughed, all the while staring at me with wide eyes. "That phrase...that's almost exactly the same way James used to refer to it." His eyes darkened then. "I've heard of Loup Garou before. Why did you have to?"

"He would have killed me and a half-dozen other innocents." I said, and he nodded.

"What did Black refer to it as?"

"Siri called it my time of the month." he said, chuckling. I belted out a laugh, and shook my head.

"Do...do you think he really did it?" he asked, hesitantly.

"I don't know. There's a lot of 'if' coming off of this case. My next stop, after lunch with Harry, is to go to the Ministry to get the documentation of the trial itself."

"Well, good luck with that. And give Harry my best."

"I will."

* * *

My first view of Harry James Potter was that of a mirror image to the ghostly image of his father I'd seen, except for the eyes...he had his mother's jade or viridian-hued eyes, although they were full of the weight of the world, instead of light and free like a kid's eyes should be.

"Hey, kid. I'm Harry Dresden."

"Mr. Dresden, I'm Harry Potter. Nice to meet you."

"Just call me Harry."

"Heh. Only if you do the same."

"Did Professor Dumbledore let you know I was coming?"

"I got the owl, yea. He said you'd be here for lunch. Did you want to eat downstairs?" he asked, peering at me owlishly through his glasses.

"Actually, I have a hankerin' for pizza. Let's go out and find a pizzeria." I said, and his eyes lit up a bit.

"Okay, sir. I'm all ready to go."

We walked out the front door of the Cauldron, and looked around for a moment. I spotted the tell-tale shape of a pizza on a sign a few blocks down, and pointed, then we headed that way.

I kept my eyes open on the walk, and noticed that a few seconds after we'd left, someone else had come out of the Cauldron and followed us. It was a rather sleazy looking fellow, scruffy and unshaven. One of Dumbledore's, no doubt.

"So what do you like on your pizza?"

"Hmm...I don't know if I've ever had it before."

"Well, then, time to fix that. How about Pepperoni and Sausage?"

"Sounds good." he said, smiling slightly. The kid had a nice smile, when he let it out to play.

We got to the pizzeria and sat down. A perky little twenty-something took our order, winking at me and flirting heavily with Harry, so badly that he was blushing by the end. She took our order and brought us back the Cokes within a minute or two.

I had to grin when I turned to talk again; she'd leaned over another table to wipe it, with her cleavage aimed _right _at Harry, and he'd gone red as a tomato again.

"See, isn't this so much better than that stuffy old pub?"

"Er...y-yeah, I guess so..." he stuttered, having a hard time drawing his eyes away from the spectacle.

"Eyes up, Harry. Just because she's teasing you, doesn't mean we have to let her win." He finally made eye contact with me (though I only let it last for a moment), and chuckled uncertainly.

"I guess so. Not like it's bad to lose, though."

"Ha! Now you're getting it. So are you enjoying your summer so far?"

"Er...the first half was pretty pants. The next few weeks should be brilliant though." he said. I activated my mental British to American translator, and figured out what he was saying.

"What happened earlier?"

He shot me a look. "You mean _besides_ blowing up Aunt Marge?" he whispered, somewhat harshly.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to imply..."

"No, s'alright." he said, shoulders slumping. "It just...she made me _so angry_. She was saying horrible things about my parents. 3 years ago, I wouldn't have known any different. Now, knowing that my parents were heroes, it..._I wanted bad things to happen to her."_ he said, whispering the last part, turning away so he didn't have to see my face or eyes.

I reached across and turned him to face me. "Hey. Relax, I'm not gonna go blabbing about it. It's _perfectly natural_ to feel angry, and even to wish ill of people sometimes. It's not the most productive way for you to spend your life, but nobody's going to throw you in jail for accidentally blowing her up when she provoked you.

"Can I tell you a secret?" I said, getting his attention.

He nodded.

"I've killed before. Several times. The first time, he had sent an assassin demon after me. After I beat it, you can't kill things like that, I went back to confront him. We dueled."

"And he died." Harry whispered, looking wan.

"Yep. I nearly lost my head over it, but in the end I came out stronger. I don't feel proud of it, nor am I glad I did so. But I think it was the right thing to do at the time; rather than letting him kill me, or worse."

He nodded. "Sometimes we have to do things, take actions, that we don't enjoy?"

"Yep. The important thing, is that _you_ control that dark little voice. He doesn't speak for you, you do. He's just a destructive little adolescent that enjoys fire, probably a bit like mine." Harry chuckled, and a smile appeared.

"How do you control it?"

"You don't listen to him. Or rather, you listen, then decide what to do on your own."

He nodded, looking pensive. Maybe I'd given him something to think of.

"Alright. You've seen the news about Sirius Black?"

"Yea. He was responsible for my parents?"

"I'm working on that. The government will have you believe that he is. Most people believe that, and the news. I have trouble just going along with it, though."

"You're looking for him?"

"In one fashion or another, yea. Professor Dumbledore hired me to find him. He didn't, however, explicitly tell me what I should do once I did. That man has to be the master of the insinuation."

"What?"

"In my personal experience as a private investigator, the people who hire someone like me to investigate a case are rarely innocent. They may not be guilty of the crime that's being investigated, but everybody's guilty of something. And I've had enough cases go south, and enough clients turn on me and try to kill me, to make me paranoid."

"The Headmaster's a great man, though."

"So I'm told. But believe me, nobody becomes so important a man with his fingers in as many pies, without some dark history." I saw his eyes get a little sad, and felt a tiny bit bad I was shattering his illusions.

"Look. I'm not telling you what to believe...but I am telling you to find out for yourself. Look him up in history books. Better yet, find out who he might have known as a younger man, then _ask them._ No better source than a first-hand account."

"I will. Thanks for the advice." He turned to his food, devouring the pizza. I helped. The waitress came by again, leaning against Harry's shoulder as she came up behind him with one hand on his other, her breast brushing against his head, and I grinned at his supreme attention to her presence.

"Anything else I can get for you gents?"

"Just the check when you get a chance."

"Be back in a minute." she chirped, running her hand through his hair and bouncing off.

He was beet red, with a goofy look on his face. I just grinned.

Corruption of youth? Enjoyable as hell.

We paid (he tried to offer, but since he was without Pounds, I won the exchange) and started wandering a bit. "Do you want anything while we're out? Clothes, shoes, anything?" I asked, looking at his rather shabby and over-sized clothes, with duct-tape holding together his sneakers.

"Er...I don't have any money."

"You've got wizard money though, right?" I said quietly.

"Sure."

"Then I'll trade you. I want to get into the Alley and make a few purchases, then I've got to head over to the Ministry of Magic."

"Deal." he said, grinning.

* * *

The little two-bed motel room was quiet, except for the breathing of two dogs as they lay on opposite beds.

The large shaggy black dog awoke, looking around the room, almost as if it had woken from a nightmare. He heard a snuffling chuff from the other bed, and saw the big, leonine gray dog staring at him piercingly.

_Bad dream? _The Foo Dog's "doggy voice" was deep and booming.

_Less so than usual._ The black dog's response was thin and reedy, but seemed to be recovering; there was an aristocratic tinge to it that Mouse had only ever heard from show dogs.

_You should tell my familiar, you know. He can handle the truth._

The black dog stiffened, staring at Mouse wide-eyed. Finally, he sighed and laid down his head, eyes still studying his interrogator.

_He was hired to _catch_ me, Mouse._

_It wouldn't be the first time he's reinterpreted his mission, Padfoot. Give him a chance._

_I'll think about it._

* * *

After a quick pass through Diagon Alley, where I bought a handful of interesting-looking books and a quick set of "robes", which I figured would fit in better at the Ministry, I contacted Tonks and Kingsley and had them show me into the Ministry.

They showed me to the records department first. We learned soon after, though, that all of the records about Black had been sealed, on orders of some Senior Undersecretary, which sounded like a bullshit job if I ever heard one. Not long after the escape, either.

More than anything else, this proved to me that there was something rotten in the state of Denmark.

Tonks and Kingsley showed me into the office of the Director of Magical Law Enforcement, a stern, square-jawed witch wearing a monocle named Amelia Bones.

"Mr. Dresden. Tonks and Kingsley tell me you have some questions."

"Yes. I'm investigating the escape of Sirius Black. Curiously, I'm finding more questions than answers with each step."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "What exactly does that mean?"

"I think" I said, gulping surreptitiously, "that somebody high up in your government doesn't want the truth known. Truth is embarrassing, after all, especially when the lie is far more convenient. I have no reason to suspect you, after all you've probably got your marching orders like anybody else."

She relaxed, sitting back and studying me carefully.

"They told me you killed a Dementor."

"Quite by accident. Didn't exactly mean it. Okay, I _might_ have meant it..." I said, muttering the last. I saw a smile steal across her face.

"Don't apologize. I despise the things. Blight on our system. But unfortunately, getting the support to abolish the use of Dementors in our prison system is above my pay grade."

"I figured as much. Real cops, good cops, while they may take the shot if they have to, don't believe in torturing their prisoners. Justice, not revenge." I said, thinking of how the Council handled warlocks...

"You reacted badly?"

"You could say that."

"Do you have much to be guilty about?" she asked, giving another piercing look.

"Unfortunately, all I have are regrets." I said, wearily. She grimaced, and nodded.

"I'll give you access to those files. You'll have about as long as it takes that fat pink toad Umbridge to waddle her stubby legs down to Records, so find what you need, quickly. And if she hears a word about what I just said, our deal's off." she said, with a warning look.

"Understood." I said, swallowing a smile.

* * *

All Records departments in old bureaucracies must be the same. The Wizarding World hadn't had the invasion of computers that had plagued the world in the past decades, so I actually had an _easier_ time of getting into the Department of Mysteries (using the shiny badge she'd conjured for me) with my auror escorts/research assistants. I definitely had an easier time accessing the records I needed.

We got right to it. There was a service jacket; apparently Black had been a member of the Aurors. Curiously his service had never been terminated, so he was technically _still_ an active member of the Auror Corps, and if he ever got cleared, he had a substantial backpay accumulated; I wondered where it was going otherwise.

I ripped through the service jacket quickly; I noticed that Kingsley and Tonks looked astonished at the speed I read at.

I wasn't really reading at all, of course. I was just glancing at each page, and knowing the uncertain deadline I was working under, I was going to borrow Lash's total recall to view the documents later. I also had Tonks and Kingsley making me duplicate files and shrinking them away in a bag; never let it be said that my anal retentive attention to detail never yielded positive results.

"_You enjoy bending as many rules as possible, don't you my host?"_

_She gave them explicit orders to not let me make off with the official copies of the records. She said _nothing_ about making copies._

"_Do not think she was ignorant of that loophole."_

There were the civilian records; birth cert, records of his gaining OWL and NEWT, whatever those were. Hogwarts records. A whole pile of stuff had accumulated next to me by the time I reached the material from Halloween, 1981. I had seen the document that signified his Godfather bond to Harry Potter. I made a mental note to ask Dumbledore or some other knowledgeable person about it later.

Arrest records; two arresting officers, Aurors Wilkes and Burrows, although the first people on the scene were actually the Obliviators, led by a Department of Magical Catastrophes (I liked that department name, it sounded like the kind of place I'd get hired) Team Leader, Cornelius Fudge. (The fact that the people intended to cover up the scene got there before the arresting officers was...well, it spoke of all kinds of messed-up priorities).

As a matter of fact, the same Cornelius Fudge that had sworn out a Kiss on Sight order for Black. Conflict of Interest? Not invented here, apparently.

The Arrest records were short. The only things listed were the apparent crimes; murder of Peter Pettigrew, murder of 13 muggles, breach of the Statute of Secrecy.

The evidence sheet included a wand; dragon heartstring and blackthorn. Tonks looked over that document oddly when she saw it.

"They never took Prior Incantato." Kingsley reacted as well, frowning and studying the sheet.

"Little help?"

"That particular spell tells exactly what spells were cast through the wand, up to a particular certainty. The usual amount of spells is 20 to 30, if held long enough. Any real trial would have had them testing the wand, even as a formality."

"Hmm."

"Something else odd; it wasn't snapped. Usually, a wand is snapped once a criminal is convicted."

There was a little box containing a finger. It appeared to have some sort of stasis field over it, because the finger looked fresh, even still dripping blood. I nicked a tiny vial of it when they weren't looking.

The next record was an Azkaban transfer record, and prisoner inculcation; signed by a Bartimeous Crouch and someone listed as Warden of Azkaban.

I blinked.

"Uh, where's the trial record?"

The two aurors also blinked rapidly.

"Trial records run on average a meter of paperwork, especially for a high-profile case. It couldn't just go missing without notice that somebody's removed it, and there'd be a removal note." Kingsley said.

"Either they were removed to prevent us from doing exactly what we're doing..."

Tonks looked ill. "Or there wasn't one. _Mum, I knew you were right."_ she whispered.

"Hem hem." came a sound from over my shoulder. Kingsley and Tonks sighed, shaking their heads.

I kept scanning files, ignoring the annoyance.

"HEM HEM!" the sound came again, right in my ear.

"Jesus, was that entirely necessary?" I blurted out, jumping a half-foot in the air.

"What are you doing here? These records are sealed!" I turned around and looked her once-over (and believe me, once was enough). About 4'6", wider than tall, wearing a ghastly shade of pink (My brother wore fishnet shirts and the color salmon with alarming regularity, and even he wouldn't be caught dead in that color) and looking like a toad that sucked on a lemon. Ahh, the fat pink toad. It took her longer to waddle down here than I had imagined.

"I would be looking through them, in fact. And this handy, dandy, all-access pass from the DMLE explains their unsealing."

She glared at me. It was nauseatingly cute; she couldn't threaten a lady bug with her glare.

"What is your name?"

"Mickey Mouse." I heard two snorts of laughter over my shoulder, as I stood to my full height, nearly double hers.

"Well, Mr. Mouse, these records have been sealed by order of the Minister of Magic." The snorts behind me got louder, and I thought I heard someone putting a hand over their mouth. _God, have these people ever seen movies or TV? Even heard of them?_

I turned to Tonks, who indeed held one hand over her mouth, and said in a famous, high-pitched voice, "Hey Tonks, you alright over there?" then turned back to the pink toad. I heard Tonks first start laughing, then coughing uncontrollably.

"Records about an escaped prisoner that have been sealed against even the authorities tasked with _chasing him_ sounds about as useful as a screen door on a submarine. Or would you prefer I think of it as intentional, to make sure nobody discovers the truth about him? Which do you prefer, incompetent or malevolent? Dumbass or bitch?"

"We'll see what the aurors have to say about this, Mr. Mouse!"

"Aurors like the two over there who have been watching me to make sure I don't make off with original records?"

She spluttered, making some vague references and comments to my regretting something (I stopped caring about the opinions of useless people a long time ago) while I sidestepped her, walking out holding the bag they'd been piling record copies in.

"Whatever, I'm done here." The DoM archivist hurried forward to gather up the records we'd been examining, brushing aside the apoplectic woman.

Tonks stepped up next to me in the elevator, while Kingsley returned to his desk.

"There'll be hell to pay later. She's not a good one to make angry."

"I've ridden a zombie dinosaur against a horde of necromancers before. A bureaucrat in a cardigan doesn't worry me."

Tonks looked shocked, then laughed, then turned to me, saying quietly; "When you find him, tell him cousin Dora says hi?"

I gave her a _look_, but she smirked and turned back to the doors, paying no further attention to me.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

* * *

It was getting late when I got back to the room. I'd spent all day after my mark; records and stories, instead of the man himself, and it was nearly 8pm. I grabbed a quick walking dinner, fish'n'chips (hell, I'm in London, why don't I?) and headed for my hotel.

The dogs greeted me with effusive joy. I took them out quick, and both did their business briskly (they'd been inside all day, and by the time I got back I was worried about a mess; thankfully, no presents left for me).

I slouched into the kitchen chair with my folded newspaper of fish'n'chips, and did my best to ignore the sad doggy eyes that tried to levitate the food out of my hands. For once I didn't give in, though, and after I was done eating, poured the dogs a bowl of food. They were digging in, when I switched on the light and looked at the newspaper that I'd left face-up on the desk.

There was a mark on it. A circle. Right over the boy with the rat in his pocket.

I took the clue, and looked closer. The kid must have been Ron, the kid Harry was friends with. Freckles, red hair, clothes looking a bit shabby but well-cared for (like they were second-hand, but kept in good shape and repaired).

I saw the rat pop out of the shirt pocket, and saw it, the clue I needed. _Of course, it would be that prosaic, wouldn't it?_

I turned in my seat, and studied the dogs as they ate. There was no racket reported by the desk denizen (they would have said something), and nothing was torn up or damaged.

Nobody had broken in.

The dogs ignored me at first, but the pressure of my stare caused the stray black dog to look up, and he met my eyes with his clever gray ones...

* * *

The next morning found me at Hogwarts yet again; I was on a first name basis with Stan Shunpike now, and he didn't bother with the rigamarole of "with 'ot chocolate, with toofbrush". He just waited for my destination and gave me the price.

I hopped out at the gates, staff and rod on me today. I wasn't sure, but I had the inkling there could be a fight. Depending on his reaction...

I waved to Hagrid as I passed, and he bellowed out a greeting, then went back to wrangling some sort of skeletal winged horse, with a leathery hide. In other circumstances, I would be pretty damn interested in learning about them...and maybe I'd have the chance in the next few days. Right now, I had a Chief Warlock to wrangle.

I found my way up to his office, quicker than before.

Honest to God, Dumbledore looked a little surprised when I popped into his office.

"Ahh. Mr. Dresden. I gather you have information."

"Black didn't get a trial."

He sat silently, studying me. I tried to tone down the power I could feel leaking out of me, but my annoyance and irritation had given me a bit of build-up on the walk up.

"What proof do you have of this?"

I tossed the evidence and Azkaban files that had been on either side of the hole that should have held the trial manuscripts.

He studied the files, and nodded slowly.

"I didn't expect this. Please, sit, Mr. Dresden."

I sat, slowly. I still had one hand on my staff, and I saw his eyes bounce off it warily. I looked over and saw the symbols etched into the staff, glowing red.

"Oops, sorry." I muttered, letting the power go. The sharp scent of brimstone faded.

"It is no problem, Mr. Dresden. I fully understand your anger."

"Explain."

"The times following the fall of Voldemort were hectic. Families were torn asunder; some because most of their line had been murdered at the Dark Lord's command, some because they were on opposite sides of the war. The Bones family, for example, was reduced to two members; Madam Amelia Bones and her niece, Susan. The Black family, on the other hand, appeared to have destroyed itself. Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black had become Voldemort's most trusted lieutenant, Sirius' brother Regulus was killed as a Death Eater...likely on Voldemort's orders, as we honestly do not know his fate even now.

"That is why many ultimately believed that Sirius must have fallen to darkness. The notion that a Black could support Voldemort was readily believable. It seemed that there was no other way that the Potters could have been exposed."

"I understand the suspicion. But...not allowing him a trial?"

"That is where I confess confusion. I had believed there to be a trial; I do not remember it being in the Prophet, but...well, let's just say that I never believed it to be a situation where the laws could have been circumvented.

"In peacetime, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot is indeed the arbiter on trials; however, at the end of the war, the Council of Magical Law was in control of trials. And the head of the Council of Magical Law was..."

"Bartemius Crouch." I said, checking the paperwork.

"Barty Crouch, Sr. He lost his position with the revelation that his own son was a Death Eater, Barty Crouch, Jr. He is now in the Department of International Magical Cooperation."

"What happened to Junior? Azkaban?"

"Yes. He died a year later."

"He was also the head of Magical Law Enforcement at the time, right?"

"Correct."

"Black was an auror. He's _still_ listed as an auror. Active Duty. 12 years of back-pay. His wand wasn't snapped, either."

"Then the conviction papers wouldn't have gone though...because there was no trial. _Damn_. _Barty, what have you done?"_

"So you _didn't_ know anything about this?"

"Of course not. If I had..."

"Black is Harry's godfather. It's listed down on the records."

Dumbledore's eyes widened.

"I originally placed Harry with the Dursleys because there wasn't another viable option...Amelia Bones already had her hands full, the Longbottoms were unavailable and were driven to insanity...And I did not trust the Tonks' implicitly, Andromeda was a Black, after all. Perhaps a mistake on my part." he murmured, stroking his beard.

"One hell of a mistake. I know the reality of it; I grew up in foster homes and orphanages since I was 6. Harry...he carries a lot of anger. That was a hell of a transformation on another to pull off at the age of 13, without any focus, and only anger fueling it."

"I had always hoped that Petunia might set aside her old problems with Lily...apparently I've been proven wrong. What other choice do I have now though?"

"We prove whether Black was innocent or not."

He gave me a shrewd look.

"You have a plan."

"Yes. I'll need to ride the Express on the first." I said, slapping down the marked-up Daily Prophet in front of him. His eyes got rather wide.

* * *

It was decided (after about a half hour of discussion) that I would stay in London. Dumbledore agreed to pay a nominal fee (less than my usual rate, which would add up over a month) for my services as a "minder". Apparently Harry had asked if I could spend any more time with him, and Dumbledore wanted somebody around to keep an eye on him if necessary.

I agreed only because I wanted to head off problems with Harry. I could sense it in him...that darkness. It didn't frighten me, because I understood it, but it did concern me. Harry was a considerable talent; I would have sponsored him for Council membership if it wasn't for the fact that he was a member of this different wizard society. He had power, in spades. He just didn't know how to control or harness it yet.

And that anger, given time to grow and multiply, could become self-destructive given time. I knew I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I ever had to take the kid's head as a warlock, or heard about him becoming a resident at the Azkaban Bed and Breakfast, so I figured an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.

For the first few days, we just talked. We would get coffee, or ice cream, or whatever was interesting. We went to a Chinese place one day for dinner, and I managed to find a Greek diner another. He had very limited exposure to other foods, and I figured it wouldn't hurt to broaden his horizons.

We talked about his power. His anger. His feelings toward family and friends.

I'm not a licensed psychologist by any means, but I'm a damn good listener.

He missed his parents (obviously), and lacked for any sort of positive authority figure in his life. More than that, he lacked for people he _trusted_. Apart from friends. He didn't have people older than him who took care of him, so he'd learned to take care of himself.

He admired Hagrid, thought him a friend, but not the most trustworthy...he liked the Weasley parents, but felt smothered by the mother and rather ignored in the whole. Besides, when he had been in a bad way earlier in the month...they weren't there.

Dumbledore had been souring in his eyes, after I had told him to carefully examine his history. I felt a bit of guilt from that, but I couldn't fault the kid for his efforts. He'd put together a great deal of information (he showed me everything he'd found), even some first-hand accounts from people in the Alley, like Ollivander the wandmaker and Fortescue the sorbetier. I gathered that he'd gotten both negative and positive impressions from these first-hand sources. All in all, it was healthy.

At one point we got onto his classes for school.

"What classes do you take this year?"

"The usual, Charms, Transfig, Potions, Herbology, and Defense. Well, and History. That plus my electives...Care of Magical Creatures..."

"Useful. Good to know how to handle various critters."

"And Divination."

"Whoa, full-stop. You're going to be learning divination?"

"Well...Ron and I agreed to. That, and it should be easy."

"It's easy to let your friends dictate choices, especially when you want to keep them close to you. But..._Divination_?" I asked, dismayed.

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's fortune telling. Okay, reality check. I fully admit that oracles and prophets exist. I've been the subject of one before."

"Then...it's useful?" he looked hopeful for a second.

"No."

"Damn."

"In fact, they're _less_ than useful, because the prophecy I was originally told was incomplete...when I got the whole thing from the actual oracle spirit that had made it, it drastically changed the meaning; they're based on interpretation. They're self-fulfilling. The reason for that is...as soon as you allow the prophecy to influence your decisions, you cease to have the free will to change the situation."

He looked up at me hopefully. "You can actually change fate?"

"Every action you take is a method of changing fate. Every decision...that doesn't mean that some decisions aren't more attractive than others, and that doesn't mean that every decision can affect the outcome. But...I've already defied fate at least once." I said, not getting into the meat of the decision.

"Really?"

"Well, I've spit in the eye of death a bunch of times. I was also party to a non-magical making a decision that affected the outcome of an event, in ways that I _still_ don't fully understand."

"Hmm."

"Besides, the other side of that coin is that if you're trying to learn how to divine anything...the class won't help you. You've just as much chance of getting it right as you would flipping a coin. I could probably teach you a few tricks that would work better, otherwise known as the WAG technique; Wild Ass Guess."

"Hmmph." he said, sitting back and thinking.

"What other classes do they have available? And are you able to change them?"

"I should be able to. The classes are Muggle Studies-"

"An utter waste, if the ridiculous way that most of these purebloods speak about "muggles" means anything."

"Agreed. The other two are Arithmancy and Ancient Runes."

"Runes are damn useful. There've been a bunch of times I wished I understood more about different runes and sigils."

"Hard class, though."

"Anything worth doing is."

"Hmmph."

"And if Arithmancy is anything like I'm imagining, I'd say it's likely tied to the power calculations I use on a spell by spell basis. If you can get a clear understanding of your spellcraft by learning how the math works, it's worthwhile. You may not be the best at theory, I totally get that. But you don't improve by doing the bare minimum. You get better by pushing yourself, trying harder, and doing things over...and over...and over. Practice makes perfect, and nobody is _ever_ perfect, nor will they be."

He chuckled, looking wistful.

"Would have been nice to have somebody to put a boot up my arse when I skived off the first two years."

"Boot to Ass is my specialty." I said, smirking.

"So you think I should?"

"Send a letter to your teachers. Find out what they think. Then make the decision on your own. One thing you should consider is...what do you want to do with your life? That'll affect what you should learn early on."

He sat back, and looked down into his lap. "I sometimes think I won't make it to _be_ an adult."

I sighed. I _really_ didn't have the degree to deal with this.

"I nearly _didn't_. But I'm still here. Every time I go into a nasty case, there are moments I think I'll not make it from one minute to the next. But feeling sorry for myself never got me anywhere."

He looked up, saw the determination in my face.

"You're right. Sorry."

"Don't apologize to me. I'm not the one that's harmed by that attitude. And just saying sorry never fixed anything. _Make it right._"

He nodded, face contemplative.

* * *

Later that morning, in response to his letter, Professor McGonagall showed up at the Leaky Cauldron and sat with him. I sat some distance away, sipping a Butterbeer. (I had to admit, the stuff was _good_.)

After about an hour, the two got up and bellied up to the bar beside me.

"Mr. Dresden?"

"Harry." I said, shaking her hand.

"Thank you for speaking with me. Can we speak privately?"

"Sure."

"Mr. Potter, don't go far."

"I won't, Professor."

We sat down at the table they'd just vacated, and she flicked her wand back and forth; I felt currents of magic building around us, in a sort of auditory wall.

"Thank you for suggesting he contact me."

"He doesn't have any sort of counsel at all. Nobody's ever told him that he needs to do better. At least...not in a way that's useful or that he understood." I said, sighing and taking a swig of butterbeer.

"You're right." she said, slumping back and taking a drink of her own. "I feel responsible in some way."

"Why?"

"I knew both James and Lily. Both were exceptional. Good students, even if James was a bit of a prankster. I suppose I had such high hopes for Harry...when I saw his actual class work, though, I lost hope. It was so...average. His writing, his grasp of theory..."

"What about his practical work?"

"Decent. He does have a knack for practical work. Sometimes, though, the theory is _required_ to advance the practical. And he seems to rather enjoy skiving off with Mr. Weasley or getting himself into some sort of trouble, instead of studying."

"Why didn't anybody ever say anything?"

"Honestly? We didn't want to get involved. Some of us at the school, myself, Filius, even Albus...we remember what exceptional people his parents were. But we also see them buried in him, deep within. And the pain...the loss is just too much to bear some days. We all decided, separately, that we would keep our distance."

"And in doing so, you leave him with _nothing_ in the way of guidance. I know for a fact that fatass uncle of his, or his shrew of an aunt, don't lift a finger to help him. He's told me as much. He feels the loss of parents _far_ more keenly than you."

She looked downcast. "I know."

"Is your pride really more important than his future?" I needled.

She looked up and narrowed her eyes at me. "What interest do _you_ have in his future?"

"Honestly? I see myself. I went through orphanages and foster homes. I lost both parents by the age of six. I made bad decisions, and ended up indebted to creatures and people that you don't want any part of, by the time I was 16. I was put through a murder trial that same year, one that if I had been convicted, I'd get a very short haircut with a very sharp blade. And I don't want to see him fall into the same traps."

She looked horrified. "H-how?"

"I killed my adopted father in a duel. He tried to enthrall me, he _did_ enthrall my adopted sister. Who was also my first lover. Tell me _that_ isn't fucked up."

The stricken look on her face deepened. "Merlin's beard..."

"Now do you see why I'd like him to actually make something of himself? Stay on the right path? Avoid the pitfalls I hit? The darkness he carries...the anger he has in his heart...those sorts of things, anger, hate, fear, can do a number on you over time. They're a beacon to the darker elements of the world, the things that can corrupt you. If you once turn to the Dark Side, forever will it dominate your destiny."

"So you've taken him under your wing?"

"Yep." I said, popping the P. "Seems like no-one else will."

She looked down in shame again.

"So about those classes?"

"He expressed interest in Runes and Arithmancy. To be frank, the reason I _didn't_ suggest them at the end of last year is...well, his scores in other classes aren't impressive. Both fields are...demanding."

"Did you try giving him a boot in the ass? Try pushing him?"

"Sadly, no." she said, a grimace on her face.

"Do it. You won't have to bully him to get him really ahead of things. He's a smart kid. I'm actually planning on working on some of _my_ spellwork with him. See what he's good at. Hell, if he does good enough, I'll invite him to come to the States when he graduates to apprentice."

A grim little smile showed up on her face.

"Apprentice?"

"Private Investigator. It's a good field. Not the most lucrative...but it beats sitting back and letting shit happen to people."

"I'd admonish you for your language, but I get the feeling taking you over my knee won't help much."

"You're welcome to try." I said, smirking.

She dropped the security spells and waved Harry over, and we sat down to lunch.

* * *

"Alright. Slowly draw the circle around you, and as you're drawing, imagine the chalk line projecting a wall upwards. As far as you can see. As you close the circle, imagine the walls closing up around you; you'll feel the magic pressing in on you a bit, like a high-tension wire."

I watched curiously as he carefully drew a circle around himself, his tongue partway out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrated. With a sparkle, I saw the circle close, and could feel its shape.

"Nice. It's closed. You can feel the magic, right?"

"More this time, yeah. It's like...the air is thicker. Like being underwater."

"Okay. Take the little amulet I gave you, and hold it in your right hand; power always projects from the right and comes in the left. Focus. Focus on the shape and feel and _sensation_ of the amulet, focus on its twin. Draw the connection between the two. Feel your magic, feel it condense and swell up around you. Draw the magic into your left side, then push it out into your right hand and into the amulet. Not too much; we're finding the twin amulet, not blowing it up." I'd bought a pair of matching amulets for this test; no sense in trying with a hair, and possibly setting the target on fire.

I saw the beads of sweat on his forehead, knew he was trying as hard as he could. This was the third attempt at a tracking spell, and he'd started getting frustrated, not a good state of mind for casting spells.

"Got the image in your head? Drawn the connection?"

"Yeah." he said, his voice a thousand miles away.

"Form the words I told you. Imbue them with the magic."

"_Reperio, Reperius, Reperiamus."_

"Then break the chalk line, focus on your will breaking the circle. You'll feel the power rush out around you. And if this worked, you'll see the amulet pendulum towards the twin."

He reached out and deliberately scuffed the line, wiping it out; I felt the power rush out, and it wasn't an inconsiderable amount. He opened his eyes and saw the pendant in his fist pendulum towards me, where I had the matching pendulum in my pocket.

"Hey, it worked!" he exclaimed.

"Damn right it did. Nice spellcraft, too. Nice and stable. You'll get used to forming the energy once you've practiced a few million times. You'll learn how much power _finds_ a target, and how much _blows it up_."

"This is _brilliant_." he whispered, studying the way the amulet dangled. _"Magic without a wand."_ he muttered.

"Think about it a bit. When you were younger, you did magic, didn't you? Accidentally."

"Er...yeah. I did."

"That accidental magic wasn't formed and shaped like your actual spells, but it _did_ respond to your commands, right? It did what you _wanted_ to do, even if it wasn't being consciously cast."

"I suppose."

"That means that the focus isn't exactly _required_, doesn't it? That it's just a focus, a way to channel power easier. I have an experiment for you. This is just a bike lock. You could open this easily with a spell, if I'm not mistaken."

"Sure."

"Try it. Without a wand."

"Er...how?"

"I don't know, how does it happen with the wand?"

"Er...well, I have to push the energy into my wand, then focus on the lock, imagine the mechanism, and _see_ it opening, then speak the incantation."

The lock popped open in his hands.

He looked down, then realized what had happened. "Did I just..."

"Wasn't anything _I_ did." I said, grinning. "It probably took more energy to do though, didn't it?"

"A bit, yeah. It didn't happen as easily, either."

"Which tells us...what?"

He thought for a while, concentrating on the lock again. He closed it, and focused, and it popped open.

"That the words and the wand are...channels? That what really matters with spell-casting is my intent? My will to open the lock or find the object?"

"Yep. You've probably got a bit of a headache, don't you?"

"A bit. Like a migraine." he said, holding one hand to his forehead.

"That happens partially because you're learning a new way to cast, using thaumaturgy; the power channels in a different way. It's also probably happening because you aren't insulating the spell. The energy is going directly from your brain, to your hand, and into the target."

"So the words don't just channel the power...they focus it, and in the end, insulate us from the backlash? Even when we don't speak the words, they're still doing that job?"

"Bingo."

"Let's try something else."

* * *

He had a fair degree of skill at thaumaturgy, but he showed a surprising degree of skill at wind evocation. He had a connection to the air element, it seemed, like my connection to fire. He explained that he was a pretty skilled flyer, and I agreed that it was probably connected.

He soon figured out the limits of wandless magic vs. wanded; it was slower, and took more out of him. He could cast pretty much every spell he knew wandless, but some were more successful than others; long-term changes, like some transfigurations, didn't last long. Others, like the light charm, where it was a continuous power drain, worked exceedingly well.

It wasn't all training and studying, even though I encouraged him to read ahead in all his books, to have them read through before the year began.

About 3 days a week, we would hire a large cab, pick up both dogs at my motel, and take them for exercise and fun at a dog-friendly park outside London. Padfoot, as we called the big black dog (Harry had that name in his memory from somewhere, but he couldn't pin down where) was especially fond of Harry, playing cheerfully with the kid. When both got tired from running around, chasing frisbees and generally playing, they'd sleep all the way back to the Leaky Cauldron in the seat of the cab, Padfoot with his head laying on Harry's lap.

I forgot most of the time that I was actually on the job. He really was a nice kid, and just needed somebody to look up to. Somebody he trusted. It was a hell of a shocker that nobody had stepped up to be that person yet, but since he needed a mentor, I was willing to be that person.

* * *

~Some things did come up in Chicago, though...

"No, Murphy, I'm not laughing at you. It's just ironic, that I found a large black mutt here that I've been taking care of."

"_This damn Black Dog is terrorizing Dekalb. Now how the hell am I supposed to get rid of it?"_

I thought for a bit. "Try calling Richard Mountebank, he's a low level practitioner in Evanston. He's one of the Paranet people I trained to deal with a Black Dog a while ago. His number should be at my place."

"_Fine. I'll do that. Now..."_

~It seemed that I was missing out on some interesting cases though...

"What do you mean, flaming chickens?"

"_Some idiot practitioner decided to call up some creatures out of the NeverNever, apparently, and because he's such a fucking moron, they took shape as flaming chickens. Now how do you deal with that?"_

"Just call in the Colonel."

I could hear her grinding her teeth over the phone. _"Dresden..."_

"Same way you deal with all summoners, Murph. Circle trap."

"_I don't have a convenient wizard around to draw the circle, Dresden."_

"Ask Butters. He's pretty good at doing circles with blood. He did so during that whole debacle during last Halloween."

"_The one where you turned a 65 million year old skeleton into a zombie and rode it to Evanston?"_

"I told you I was going to put Sue back."

~Along with the ones where I _definitely_ wanted to be there to see it.

"_Now how am I supposed to deal with this brothel?"_

"Bob told you they're called Houris?" I said, trying not to snort.

"_After checking me out and making crude sexual comments, yes, Dresden. Your skull is a pervert."_

"Bob does as Bob is."

"_What should I do to prevent my guys getting suckered into going into the place? The commissioners aren't very happy that 3, no, now 4 of my guys have gone into the place to make arrests and ended up getting a good time. A few wives and girlfriends are pissed off too."_

"There's a jar of ointment on my second shelf, it's a small glass jar..."

"_They don't need ointment, thankfully. Apparently these creatures are clean."_

I snorted. "That's not what I meant. The ointment is for under their eyes. It'll cut through the glamours."

I could practically hear her blush over the phone. _"Ah. Right. I'll do that."_

"Ask Bob if you have any questions."

"_And acknowledge the little prick?"_

~And the really unusual.

"_The owners of Shoegasm are getting very angry, Harry. They've left you three messages now."_

"Call them back for me, if you would. Tell them I think I have a handle on their problem, and that I'll be in Chicago the week after September first to deal with it."

"_So they're just supposed to deal with the inventory shrinkage until then?"_

"Tell them to leave out a pizza in the back room each night. That should keep the little buggers busy."

"_What?"_

"Never mind why. Just tell them that."

* * *

The month went quickly, and three days before the First of September, a gaggle of redheads descended on the Leaky Cauldron. That same day, I was present when a bushy-haired brunette squeezed Harry within an inch of his life.

"Oh, Harry! I'm so glad to see you. I've been so worried about you after hearing about your relatives! You haven't been here all alone, have you?"

"No, Harry over there has been keeping me company." Harry said, giving me a malicious grin. "He's a wizard, too. He's from Chicago. You should see some of the stuff he's teaching me, Hermione." _Thanks, Harry, for throwing me under the bus._ He'd told me enough of how Hermione was like to know she'd go all Spanish Inquisition on me.

"Hi...er, Harry?" she said, uncertainty boiling out of her.

"Harry Dresden." I said, shaking her hand. "I'm in town on some related business, and Professor Dumbledore asked me to keep Harry company while I'm here, until he heads off to school."

"Oh! That's very nice of you, I was worried about Harry. Here, meet my parents. Dan and Emma Granger."

"Sir, Ma'am."

"Very nice to meet you, Mr. Dresden. You're a wizard too, then?" asked Dan, giving me a once-over. I could practically see the middle-class dentist's thought processes; _black leather duster, single leather glove, black western shirt, scuffed jeans, cowboy boots...Who is this guy, a cattle rustler?_

"Yeah. I'm actually a private investigator in Chicago."

"Ahh, businessman, huh? Keeping busy, are we?" he said, acting like he was fawning over me. He winked at me from the side opposite his daughter, though, and I knew he was yanking her chain.

"Daddy! Be nice. I'm sorry, Mr. Dresden. My daddy was born with a deplorable lack of tact."

I snorted, and I heard Harry covering his mouth to prevent a laugh. I also saw Emma, Hermione's mother, smirk in amusement, while Dan put on a mock-offended expression.

"Kitten, why would you say that about me?"

"Because it's true, honey." Emma said, stepping forward. "Lovely to meet you, Mr. Dresden."

"Mrs. Granger."

"Emma.""Harry."

"So what sort of work do you do, Harry? I understand you're a PI, but..."

"It runs the gamut. I do a lot of work finding lost items. Occasionally lost people. Sometimes creatures are running amok, and I have to run them down. Infestations of Faeries to clear out, warlocks summoning demons I have to stamp down, et cetera." I said, playing off the latter lightly.

"Yeah, he hasn't shown me to summon a demon at all." Harry said, pouting facetiously.

"You can do that?" Dan asked, frowning as he put one hand on his daughter's shoulder.

"Harry's giving us guff. While I technically _can_ summon creatures out of the spirit world, for the most part I don't _need_ to. Any information or help they can give is far more readily available from the mortal world, or other sources."

"What did he mean by demon, though?"

"I expect you're imagining the Devil from Legend, right? That's not the sort of creature we're talking about. When I refer to a demon, it's usually no more and no less than a creature of spirit from the NeverNever, which is a spirit realm that lies adjacent to ours. Pretty much everything you've ever heard of, ghosts, goblins, faeries, vampires...they all come, in one way or another, from the NeverNever. So-called Demons are just creatures from that realm. Some are malevolent, some even benevolent, and all are dangerous to work with. It's just as much that I'd rather work with creatures right here in the world, or take care of things using my own talents and sources."

"Ahh." Dan said, relaxing with a smile.

Harry smirked at me, and I mock-glared; all the same, I was glad to see him more willing to tease me; I got the impression he didn't do this even with his own friends.

I slipped out to let the friends reunite. I'd see them all, of course, on September first when I rode the train.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

* * *

I was walking back from the bus stop near my motel, enjoying the night; after leaving the kids to catch up, I went and grabbed a leisurely dinner, enjoyed a quick flirt with the waitress (she wasn't really my type, but she was trying her damnedest to get my attention, and there was no point in pissing her off.)

Lips still tingling from her goodbye kiss, I wandered through the streets; it was quieting down for the night, with minimal car traffic and only the few last buses and pedestrians heading homeward.

Were I another man, I might have missed the signs. I might have been distracted by the kissing, by the phone number that had been pressed into my hand and was now nestled in my duster pocket.

The fact is, paranoia has been a part of me for a long time. Since I fought a pack of neo-Kemmlerites in Evanston, since I took on the White King in his own domain...since my first master set an assassin demon on me when I was 16.

My instincts are good. Pretty damned good, actually. I've honed them for a long time. I've had help with them. I heard a shuffling, scuffing sound, and smelled the scent of honeysuckle.

"_You know it's coming, love."_

_You're starting to sound like a Brit, Lash._

"_I rather like the accent, actually."_

_You're welcome to stay in London when I go home._

In the mildewed, moldering walls of Azkaban, Dementors are like a predator in their native jungle. They blend in, disappear. They're as ubiquitous as the walls.

On the streets of London, in June, a Dementor stands out like a gaping maw in reality. Creatures that don't originate in the world, or creatures that have transcended the mortal condition, tend to bend space and nature around them. Dementors are no different. The warp of their aura is almost visible, even before the cold front of their approach moves in.

I stepped down a dark alley, then turned to face the approaching creatures.

I put one hand out, whispered a phrase in pseudo-Latin, and a spark ignited about six inches above my palm. I fed the fire...channeled it, molded it. It grew, and pulsed, almost like a living being. The scent of brimstone permeated the alley, along with the singe of the top layer of my skin burning away.

Both creatures halted, suddenly wary.

"This isn't the best idea, boys. I'd say you should go home before I get the hat trick."

I heard a hissing, like a snake's sibilant voice. Both pressed a bit closer, and I felt the aura pushing down on the fiery warmth I'd wrapped around myself like a blanket.

"I mean it. Don't make me say it a third time. _Get lost._" The fire leapt upwards, and almost took on a life of its own. It flared, licking outwards with grasping tongues.

They stopped again, and I could feel their indecision. I laced a bit of Command in my voice, laid down the binding.

"**BEGONE, VILE CREATURES."**

They turned about and fled, drifting upwards and over the buildings.

I turned towards the shuffling I'd heard a few moments before the creatures arrived, and nodded.

"Miss Tonks."

She appeared, the invisibility spell falling away.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked, indignant.

"You're clumsy. I heard you trip. You also use a particular perfume, has a honeysuckle scent to it."

She nodded, grimacing. "Mad-Eye'd kill me if he knew you picked me up. How did you _do _that? Only a few people are really good at communicating with the things, and they're...generally not nice people."

"All creatures understand power. It doesn't make friends, but you can threaten pretty much anything, if you've got their number. And I've never been accused of being a nice person."

"I'll remember it."

* * *

The stampede created by the Weasley family on September first was a thing to behold. I had suggested to the kids that they take care of packing the night before, to avoid problems (knowing my own proclivities towards procrastination).

Harry and Hermione had taken my advice, and now stood with me and watched the show, while Mouse and Hermione's huge cat Crookshanks studied each other.

If you've never seen a wild horde of redheads in the midst of frantic packing, it's a wonderful and horrible sight. Sort of like a train wreck.

Or professional wrestling; you just can't look away.

We were met outside the Leaky Cauldron by a car from the Ministry; I took a peek inside, and saw it was expanded inside, like a limo. The damn thing was _huge_. I half-expected to see a minibar at the front.

Trunks were packed into the "boot", and the Weasleys, a Miss Granger, Mouse, and two Harrys slid into the seats.

The ride of the Ministry limo was smoother, but it felt like the Knight Bus. It passed _through_ and _around_ and _over_ the traffic in the way. I wanted to get the Beetle charmed like this; it would be handy in Chicago traffic. I'd imagine the CPD might disagree with the unmitigated ability to speed through traffic, though. If they could _catch_ me.

We pulled up outside the station; I'd already run through King's Cross before, on one of my trips around town. We hurried through the station, in a mad rush; it seemed the Weasleys _excelled_ in last-minute arrivals for the train, from the unimpressed looks on both non-Weasley faces.

I had Mouse on a leash, just in case, but he didn't go haring off after anything. Mouse was doing overwatch for the whole group, his eyes in a constant state of motion; he was practically the epitome of _guard dog_.

The group came up short before a bare brick pillar; then, in pairs, they proceeded through, leaning against the suddenly non-solid barrier.

I followed last, with Mouse; there was an odd feeling of dislocation, and stepping through mist, then we almost fell out onto the platform.

Platform 9 ¾. _Freaking wizards._

The train seemed to be getting ready to leave, and we rushed to get aboard. After stowing trunks, we walked along the long corridor of the train; the twin redheads broke off at some point, sitting with some cute ladies and a kid with dark dreadlocks. The snooty redhead rushed forward, to what he referred to as the Prefect Carriage.

The youngest redhead, the girl, found a starry-eyed blonde sitting with a somewhat chubby darker blonde kid, and sat down.

We continued on; there was only one compartment left, and in it was a familiar, shabby-looking werewolf.

He was sleeping; I guess that the full moon is hard on him (I recalled seeing it last night). There was an empty bottle next to his hand, and his cloak was pulled across his face part way.

"Looks like this is the only open compartment." Hermione whispered, sitting down with her wicker cat carrier. Ron sat next to her, holding tightly onto Scabbers the rat, who seemed...well, comatose, is the right word. Mouse sat just inside the door; I knew he wouldn't fit in the compartment itself, we might need to actually move, or breathe.

I stayed standing. "I should make another tour of the compartments, then I'll need to find some empty space. I've got a spell to do."

Harry looked up at me knowingly; I'd let him in on part of the plan for today. Hermione was curious, though.

"What spell?" she asked, eyes alight. I led the two out into the hall, and closed the door behind them.

"I have a suspicion that the betrayer of Harry's parents is on the train today. I have some of his blood. I'm going to do a little tracking spell."

"Blood magic...that's dark!" she squeaked.

"Nope, just the best channel. I'm not sacrificing with the blood, or using it as ink. All I'll be doing with it is using it as a...sample, so to speak. Like a dog searches for scents; you give them a small sample, and they can find the source."

She nodded slowly, mouth in a silent _'ah'_. "That makes sense."

"I'll be back in about 15 minutes."

I did another patrol up and down the train; the students who noticed me as I walked by eyed me curiously, but didn't say anything. I passed by the snack lady at one point, and bought a package of gum (I really needed something to chew on). I had an inkling that my tongue was turning different colors each time I blew a bubble (judging from the package of the gum), but it didn't bother me. Weirder things had happened to me this month.

I finally got back, and saw that while Harry was sitting comfortably, scratching Mouse's head, Hermione was nearly vibrating out of her chair.

Quietly, she bounced up as I got back. "Ready? You're going to do it now?"

"Yes, grasshopper. Now settle down, so you don't bust a blood vessel." She rolled her eyes at me, but stopped buzzing _quite _so much.

The three of us walked to an empty space; it was an open space normally dedicated to luggage, but was thankfully empty right now.

"Alright. Harry already knows the basics of this. But since I know you'll badger me about it for a while...this is thaumaturgy. I'm going to be drawing a connection between this blood" I held up the tiny vial of blood I'd nicked off the finger left behind "and its source; in other words, the person himself. Now, if the person is dead, the tracking spell will just fail. I'm going to key it to this compass, so we'll know what it's pointing at."

"You couldn't do a Point Me spell?"

"This is a lot more secure of a way to do it. Because I'm linking it up with the blood, the spell will seek out _only_ the person whose blood it is. Besides, I have no idea what that spell is."

"Sirius Black." Hermione said, although Harry remained silent; I'd shared my suspicions and fears with him.

"We'll see. I'm fairly confident the blood is from the Potters' betrayer." I said, trying not to tip my hand. She screwed up her face in confusion, but kept quiet.

She watched entranced as I drew the circle around me on the diamond-plate steel floor.

"The circle helps refine and strengthen energies, before I cast the spell."

I held up the vial of blood, and the little cheap compass (which spun wildly, being in the middle of a bunch of steel). I daubed a bit of the blood on it, and closed my eyes. Muttering the incantation under my breath, I could feel the pulse of power as I connected blood to owner, then attached the connection to the compass.

I broke the circle with a deliberate scuff, and felt the energies flow out, seeking their target. Hermione seemed to jump and shiver; while Harry closed his eyes, looking like he was getting a handle on the shape of the spell.

"That feels different than the one you had me try."

"Partially because it's my magic. Each person's magic _tastes_ different, for lack of a better word. But I also keyed the spell differently. You were linking between two identical items, using the Law of Similarity. I linked between a part and the whole, using the Law of Contagion. Good eye, though."

"Ahh." he said, nodding sagely. Hermione scrunched up her face in confusion, but kept her peace as she worked out the difference.

I held out the compass for the two to see, and they saw the arrow point-back the way we'd come.

"Tally ho." I whispered, and we set out.

* * *

It was a bit stop and go, at first, like all tracking spells. It points in a direct line to the target, not necessarily according to turns and twists. We were in a train, though, and there wasn't much room for the target to maneuver.

Sooner or later, we found ourselves in front of our own compartment. Harry looked determined, while Hermione was shocked; "_Could it be that Lupin?"_ I could practically _hear_ her think.

The door opened as we pushed on it, and we saw Mouse sitting watchfully on the seat. As I stepped in, compass in hand, I saw the arrow turn; and point right at my prey.

"Ron...do you mind if we borrow your rat?"

"Wha?" Ron asked, having been paying attention to the passing landscape.

"Scabbers. I think he's not what he seems to be."

The rat squeaked, suddenly awake, and scurried towards the door, trying to reach safety; he didn't count on Harry's Seeker reflexes kicking in, and allowing him to grab the rat securely.

"Ron, the cage?" he asked, fingers entwined in the grubby tail of the mangy little rodent as it squeaked and nipped, trying to get free.

"Uh...sure, Harry." he said, holding out the rickety little wooden cage. Hermione's wand tapped it a few times, transfiguring it to more solid steel; then I saw a blue flash as she laid another charm on it.

"Unbreakable Charm." she said, blushing.

"Nice work." I said, putting the rat inside and securely locking the door. I saw Lupin's eyes flicker open as I sat down with the caged rat, and the others retook their seats.

"Uh...Mr. Dresden, what exactly are you going to do with Scabbers? What do you mean, he's not what he seems to be?"

"If I'm not mistaken, and I don't think I am...we're going to take the rat to Professor Dumbledore at the school once we get there. There, we'll likely find that it's not a rat at all, that it's a human disguised as a rat."

Hermione's eyes got wide. "Animagus."

"That's my guess. I'll even go so far as to suggest that he's been in the form for a long time...nearly 12 years."

"Black?" Harry asked, one eyebrow raised, then his face scrunched in confusion. Black had been in _prison_ for 12 years. _Who was it then?_

"We'll have to talk to Dumbledore to find out. I don't know the magic to force someone out of a form."

* * *

Mouse was watching the cage carefully, and one of us had a wand out at all times (well, I had my rod, but still) while we whiled away the hours to Hogwarts. They had wanted to play Exploding Snap, but didn't want to wake up the sleeping Lupin (whom I suspected was not sleeping, judging by the secret grin on his face). For a while, I indulged Hermione's curiosity about some of my spellwork. Then I loaned her the used copy of Elemental Magic I had found in a small "paranormal" bookstore here to take a look at; I was intending on giving it to Harry before I left. That shut her up for a few hours as she devoured it.

We had a visit by a blonde kid and his two gorillas, but he immediately backed out when he saw the big dog glaring at him, as well as me sitting there, black duster and leather glove on.

The train came to a sudden stop, and the lights went out. Lupin was still "asleep", but the kids looked worried.

"We can't be there yet..." Hermione muttered, looking out the window. Ron pulled back from the window, whispering "There's something out there..."

The moment I felt it hitting my senses again, like the feeling of an impending blizzard, I sighed, and stood, my amulet glowing with blue light as I cracked my neck. Mouse stood with me, and shook out his fur, assuming a battle posture.

"Harry?" the younger Harry asked, looking concerned.

"We're about to have trouble. Third time's the charm, I suppose."

"What's that?"

"Dementors." I whispered, and Harry went white; I'd described the effect of a Dementor to him, and he knew he didn't want to get near one; his past was almost as dark as mine.

I stepped out into the hall, and saw the frost crawling along the hall. I saw the hooded creatures approaching along the corridor, and I _knew_ when their attention was on me. Mouse growled as I usually never heard him do; he only audibly growls in times of danger.

"Third time's the charm, bastards. **Get. Off. The. Train. Now.**"

I could sense their indecision and hunger, considering the souls all around them, but the instant fire burst into life at the tip of my blasting rod, the creatures fled, screeching loudly and piercingly. The air immediately warmed, as all of the Dementors in several miles' radius headed for the hills. The mists surrounding the tracks began to clear, exposing the last rays of light as the sun went down.

Lupin had woken (if he was ever asleep) and stood up, peeking out in the hallway.

"Everything alright?"

"Just had to threaten a Dementor with mortal peril. No problem at all."

He raised an eyebrow, but turned back around and handed out some chocolate to the kids.

"Here, have some chocolate. It helps, it _really_ helps."

I took the bar I'd put in my pocket (it turned out to be a useful thing I'd learned; chocolate, I'd learned from some research at Flourish and Blotts, was a natural antidote to quite a few magical conditions, including exhaustion and Dementor exposure. Plus, it was always good to have a snack) and broke off a square, devouring it.

"Er...why are they scared of you, Harry?" Hermione asked, looking at me worriedly.

"Law of the Jungle. I showed one of them why it was a bad idea to mess with me, and they learned quickly, _and_ told their friends."

"What he means is that he torched one while visiting Azkaban." Harry said, grinning now that he felt a bit warmer, the chocolate doing its work. Ron was gaping at me, and looked a little nervous.

"Shut it, grasshopper." I said good-naturedly; Hermione snickered, turning her attention back to the book so she could finish it before giving it back.

"Yes, sir." he muttered, turning his attention to Mouse's demanding ear scratching habit. The big dog had taken up rat-watching again, and we continued onwards to Hogwarts with a creak and groan as the train pushed forward.

* * *

The sun was down by the time the train pulled into the station at Hogsmeade. The kids ambled off, the youngest (firsties, they called them) heading toward the lakeside, where I was informed that they'd take a boat across to the castle; an initiation of sorts.

The rest walked over to a series of carriages, pulled by...thestrals.

I'd done more than just train Harry in the fine art of wizardry during our month in Diagon Alley. Flourish and Blotts made a fair business off us, partially working on improving Harry's depth of knowledge, but also on _mine_. I'd read a bestiary that described and identified the skeletal beasties called Thestrals, but nothing compares to seeing one close-up. The book said that only someone who's witnessed and understood death can see one.

I watched the kids climbing on the carriages, and most of them paid no mind to the front of the things; I did see that the screwball little blonde we'd passed on the train earlier actually reached out and stroked one of them, and I saw the boy who had been sitting with her watching the things warily.

I stepped up beside him, Mouse at my side, and the cage with the rat in one hand. My staff was crooked in the other.

"Who was it?" I asked, softly.

"My Great Uncle Phileas. He accidentally fell onto a fencepost, and died before the healers could get to him." he murmured, then looked up at me.

"Oh! Sorry. I didn't..."

"What's wrong?"

"Well...I thought you were a teacher."

"Nope. Just your friendly neighborhood private eye. Harry Dresden." I said, extending my free hand.

"Neville Longbottom. Isn't that..."

"Ron Weasley's rat, yes. I'm holding onto it for him." I gave him a tiny white lie.

"Who did you see?" he asked, looking up at me.

"Too many, kid." I said, staring at the creatures again.

"Sorry."

"No fault of yours. Just the truth."

They boarded the carriage once the blonde was done petting the thestral, and I waited for the next one with Harry and his friends.

Hermione looked at me. "What were you looking at?"

"The Thestrals pulling the carriages."

"Thestrals...the carriages are enchanted, I thought. Hogwarts, A History doesn't say anything about..."

"Don't trust everything you read. I can see them. They're real."

"Oh." she said, frowning. Then a mask of sadness fell over her face. "You can only see one if...if you've seen death."

"Mmhmm."

Harry nodded, and shot a look at his friends, silencing them. We were silent the rest of the way up. I bumped my fist on his shoulder appreciatively when we got out; I didn't really want to get into it at the time.

We walked up to the castle from the carriage, and Professor McGonagall saw us.

"Mr. Dresden, Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, Professor Lupin. Why is it I have the feeling you're about to unleash some form of mayhem?"

"Why Professor, I'm surprised that you would even consider it of me." I deadpanned.

"It's not you, Mr. Dresden, but the look of glee on Professor Lupin's face. What...what are you doing with Mr. Weasley's rat?" she said, noticing the cage.

"Professor, I think this is an animagus."

"There aren't any rats on the registry...oh, my. Is it?" she asked, looking at me and Remus. We traded a glance, and nodded.

"You'd best deliver that to Professor Dumbledore right away then. I have the feeling that the Sorting and Feast may be delayed tonight. Oh, and Professor Dumbledore wished me to tell you that your dog has made a damned nuisance of itself today."

"Aww, he's a good boy. He wouldn't do something like _that_." I said, fighting hard to keep the smile on the inside of my mouth. She gave me a long, hard stare.

* * *

"Ahh, Mr. Dresden and Company. Here is your dog, Mr. Dresden. He's quite well-trained for a stray, but he seems to have a mischievous streak." Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling madly. Padfoot slipped out from under Dumbledore's desk. "I had to rescue him from Severus several times during the day."

The big black dog bounded up and jumped on Remus, licking him as much as possible.

"Bad Padfoot!" I said, barely hiding the smirk on my face at Lupin's expression; it was...a strange mix of happiness, pain, and surprise. "Guess he likes you, Remus."

"It would seem so, Harry." Remus said, the surprise fading, leaving only a grin. Padfoot bounded over to Harry next, getting his day's quota of pets and tummy rubs. All three kids got down and petted the big ham, who soaked up their attention.

"Now, what seems to be the trouble?"

"We found him." I said simply, holding up the cage. Inside, the frightened rat saw Dumbledore and passed out.

"So it would seem."

Hermione looked up, and raised an eyebrow at the intense look Dumbledore was giving the rat.

"Professor, that's just Scabbers...I saw Harry cast the tracking spell that found him, but I don't quite understand."

"Then let's make it all clear, hmm?" Dumbledore said, heading to the Floo. He stuck his head in (I still can't get over that; who invented that form of communication?) and emerged a few moments later. After a minute or two, Amelia Bones exited the floo, along with Tonks and Shacklebolt.

"Wotcher Harry, gang!" Tonks said, irrepressible. Padfoot bounded over to get a few licks in on her as well, making it even harder for me to keep a straight face.

"Well, Dumbledore, it looks like we've got quite the gathering here. What exactly does this concern? I've still got people out looking for Black."

"My dear lady, all of the major players are in the room right now. Harry, you may begin."

I stepped forward, pulling the supporting paperwork out of my bag. The others all found places to sit, and Amelia was studying the two dogs _very_ carefully.

"The beginning and end of this, I think, is easiest shown here." I said, setting down the paper. It was the Daily Prophet issue that showed the Weasleys in Egypt.

Madame Bones inspected the issue, looking first at the front-page image. "I read this more than a month ago. What meaning does it have?"

"Take a look at the rat in the picture. Well, you can probably more clearly see what is to be seen by inspecting the rat here." I said, setting down the cage.

All three Aurors studied the rat, then looked up at me with a question in their eyes.

"The missing toe. It'll all be made clear. Alright. This paper, this specific issue, precipitated Black escaping Azkaban. Why? What is so different about this issue? It certainly wasn't the Crossword, as Black told Minister Fudge."

"Something in this picture? The rat, I presume, since you have it here as well?"

"Spot on."

"Why is the picture circled, though? To point it out to us?"

"No. That copy was in my motel room while I was investigating, and when I got back one night, the circle had been drawn on it."

"How is this relevant?"

"First reveal. I'll ask all of you to stay your wands for now; you won't need them." All three looked at each other, and nodded.

"Then...let the culprit who circled the photo in the Prophet here show himself."

Padfoot got up, trotted to the center of the room, and seemed to twist and unfold into a man. A well-groomed, clean, smiling man, in clothes about 8 inches too long. My clothes, actually.

"Cor blimey!" squeaked Tonks. Amelia Bones just glared, her hand twitching near her wand.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Sirius Black."

He bowed, grinning at the gawping face of his godson. Harry turned to me after a moment. "You knew...how long?"

"Since the day I met you. I'd picked him up in the park the day before. I may not have figured it out for a day or two more, but he decided to be helpful and circle the picture of the rat. Putting it on display for me, as it were. Sirius, did you think I wouldn't guess? I've known Mouse since he was a pup, and _nobody_ is getting in that room without me finding out when Mouse is there. That left the only other person to get in...the big black dog who was loitering conveniently in the park in Surrey when I visited."

"I'll admit, it wasn't the cleverest of ideas. But I wanted to make sure you got the point."

"Dresden, Black, make this clear soon." Bones said, glaring at both of us.

"Oh, very well. Ruin the drama, why don't you. Peter...come out, come out, wherever you are." I said, setting the cage down and opening it up, setting the unconscious rat on the ground. "Professor, if you please?"

Dumbledore's wand twitched, and the rat on the floor grew, twisted, and molded itself into a shabby, chubby little man in a bad suit with buck teeth.

I've got to give it to her; Amelia Bones doesn't shock easily. Her wand came out instantly, and she stunned him just to be sure, then levitated him into a chair and bound him tightly to it.

"Peter Pettigrew." she said, looking at him, then us.

"Yep. I used a little blood from his cut-off finger to track him down on the train. Rat or man, the blood is the same."

"Harry, you said...you said it was blood from the betrayer of Harry's parents."

"And so it was."

"How did you know that?" Bones asked, more softly this time.

"Sirius told me. Not in so many words, though..." I said, explaining what had happened, even going so far as to put the memory in Dumbledore's pensieve.

* * *

_The dogs ignored me at first, but the pressure of my stare caused the stray black dog to look up, and he met my eyes with his clever gray ones._

For me, a soul gaze usually reveals vital details about a person. It's often a static image, or at least one that doesn't change locales. The person will be standing in a place that's metaphorically important to them, surrounded with clues as to their personality and mind.

This gaze was different, as I was drawn into it. I felt almost like I was Black, landing hard on the big flying motorcycle and running frantically into the ruined house...

_"James!" I wailed, throwing myself onto my brother and weeping. "We thought we were so clever. Why did we change keepers?" I sobbed, seeing his body slack in death. I closed his eyes gently, saying goodbye..._

_I went up the stairs, now dreading the climb; there was rubble all over, evidence of a vicious duel between Voldemort and James._

_The nursery was a wreck, a huge hole in the wall and ceiling, and furniture torn asunder. Lily lay akimbo on the ground, eyes closed as if in prayer. I felt her face; still warm, though cooling beneath my fingertips._

_"Goodbye, my sister." I whispered, kissing her cheek one last time. I heard a surprised squall, then dug into the rubble to find my precious Harry...alive!_

_"My baby boy." I wept, holding the boy close. I checked his forehead, which was bleeding but not badly. The lightning bolt scar wept blood, but the small wound closed up easily under an infant healing charm._

_"Let's go home, little Harry. We'll be a family now." I carried the little boy downstairs, grabbing a blanket to wrap him up and his favorite plushie, a stuffed stag._

_Hagrid was in front of the house, looking stricken with horror._

_"Black! Wha' happened?"_

_"He was here. He killed them, Hagrid. My brother and sister."_

_"Where's'e now?"_

_"Gone. I don't know where. There was a big scorch mark on the floor and wall."_

_"Sir'us, Dumbledore wants me to take 'im." Hagrid said, looking down at me sadly._

_"Where's he to go? I'm taking him home."_

_"Dumbledore wants me t'take 'im t'th Dursleys."_

_"I'm his godfather! He should go with me!" I yelled, holding Harry close._

_"Dumbledore's orders. Ye can take it up wi' 'im."_

_I sobbed, clutching Harry close. He was right. I...I wasn't fit to be a father. I couldn't protect Lily and James, it was my fault they were dead! My fault the Secret had been broken. If I had remained the Keeper..._

_"Alright. Take my motorbike, Hagrid. Keep him safe."_

_"A'course, Sirius. See ya soon. It'll be all right."_

_I waved goodbye, goodbye to my godson..._

_Now, I turned to the only thing I had left. Revenge._

_It was two days of searching, before I found the rat._

_"They trusted you! You betrayed them! Why did you do it, Peter?" I could feel my heart breaking as another friend was lost forever...not to death, but betrayal._

_Peter's face was twisted in a sneer, and before I realized what was happening, he'd yelled "You betrayed James and Lily, Sirius? Why did you do it?" He deftly cut off his finger, dropping it to the ground, and the street exploded as a bright red hex flew from his wand._

_Peter was gone, vanishing into a drain as a small gray rat._

_The 'crack's of arriving Ministry workers went unnoticed, as Sirius began a complete breakdown...everything he'd loved was gone, except for Remus...every future he'd ever hoped for, every joy he'd had..._

_Gone._

* * *

There wasn't a dry eye in the room as the soulgaze ended its projection above the pensieve bowl.

"Sirius was never convicted." I said, laying down the supporting documentation. "Rightfully, he's still an Auror. With 12 years of backpay due him. He never stood trial. There was no documentation, no conviction notice which would have terminated his Auror position, and would have caused his wand to be snapped."

"And yes, Tonksie, Harry said you said hi." Sirius said, grinning. The Auror leaped forward, hugging her cousin tightly, then stepped back a bit bashfully, with an apologetic glance to her boss. Amelia Bones just shook her head, rolling her eyes.

"There's enough new evidence here to at least clear you, Black. Especially since Pettigrew is not quite so dead as we believed. Veritaserum verification should be best though."

Sirius stuck his tongue out, and Amelia smirked.

"Don't be so eager, or I might start asking about what you did in school." she said, and Sirius blanched. McGonagall and Dumbledore grinned.

* * *

I'll say this for this Veritaserum stuff; if we had it for my other cases, things would be a hell of a lot easier. Crimes might actually get solved.

Once Sirius had proved he wasn't the murderer by Veritaserum, and Pettigrew had incriminated himself (ahh, that's why we can't use it; Fifth Amendment) Pettigrew was carted away to the Ministry under heavy auror guard in anti-magic cuffs, and Sirius walked with us down to the Feast, his shiny new release papers in hand.

There was quite a bit of melodrama from certain people in the Great Hall (that blonde kid from the train was a major instigator,) but once it was understood that he was _not_ in fact the betrayer and murderer, but had been framed, the hall lightened up considerably.

The two of us sat with Harry at the Gryffindor table, and throughout the long-delayed Sorting, applauded each student that was seated on a high stool and sorted via the Hat (someone who would willingly put an intelligent artifact on their head has entirely too much trust).

The meal went quickly, and the rest of the students left to go to their dorms.

"Harry, when your parents had you, they made me your godfather. They wanted me to take care of you if the worst should happen. I wouldn't presume to make you leave a place you liked, but..."

Harry just shot him a glance. "Are you kidding? Of course I'll come live with you!" Harry rushed forward, hugging Sirius.

"You know, you're still just Padfoot to me." he whispered, smiling.

"Mr. Moony, Mr. Padfoot believes it is time to induct a new generation into our hallowed brotherhood. Mr. Padfoot also wishes to strike Mr. Wormtail permanently from the rolls."

"Mr. Padfoot, Mr. Moony agrees most heartily. Mr. Moony nominates Mr. Pronglet for membership."

"Mr. Padfoot seconds the nomination. All in favor?"

Both men looked at each other, and smiled. "Aye!"

Professor McGonagall just shook her head, sighing heavily. "Not another group of them."

Harry smiled. "Mr. Pronglet wishes to nominate a new member, to be named Mr. Longshanks."

Sirius grinned evilly. "Mr. Padfoot approves and seconds the nomination."

"And Mr. Moony concurs; all in favor?"

"Aye!" three voices rang out.

"Welcome to our brotherhood, Mr. Longshanks!" Sirius said, pounding my back.

"No way in hell am I learning how to turn into an animal." I said, mock-frowning. The others just cackled.

* * *

I said goodbye at the Entrance hall.

"Sirius, take care of him. He'll need it, he's got the longest road ahead of him. Remember to take a boot to him every once in a while to make sure he's trying his hardest. But take him to the dog-park to play every once in a while too, huh?"

"I will. I owe you everything, Harry. If you ever need help, or have trouble...don't hesitate to ask. Keep yourself safe."

"I will. Grasshopper, keep working on what we talked about, and try the things in Elemental Magic. When you graduate, come to Chicago. I'll have a job for you, and we can finish up your apprenticeship."

"Okay, Harry." the kid said, surprising me with a hug.

"Come visit whenever you get a chance; if I'm not on a world-ending case, I'll be there. We can go to this little Italian restaurant I know about near the college where all of the waitresses are cute. They'll love you, grasshopper."

Harry blushed red, and Sirius grinned, enjoying the new chance to needle his godson.

I waved goodbye, and the Knight Bus arrived with a "bang" as I walked out the doors.

* * *

Two weeks after I'd gotten home, I was already exhausted. The assault on Arctis Tor and the trial at the warehouse had been only a week ago, and I'd had Molly underfoot ever since, when she wasn't at her folks' place.

I wasn't expecting any mail, so I was surprised when I got the thick international shipping envelope. I scanned it as thoroughly as I could using my magic, and had Mouse sniff it; nothing bad, as far as I could see.

I opened the envelope, and out fell wads of money. American dollars. It looked like I'd robbed a bank, or pickpocketed a mobster, maybe knocked over an old Swiss lady. On final count, there was $50,000 and a note.

_Some things can't be said with words. Get a new wardrobe, go on a vacation, enjoy yourself. You deserve it._

_Padfoot & Pronglet_

I sat for a bit, wondering just how the hell I was going to put this in my taxes.


	5. Chapter 5

Epilogue

* * *

Molly was working the desk at Harry's office while he was out in the field; after the murder of La Fortier, and the drastic reshuffling of the Council, Harry's work had been on hold while he recovered from his wounding. He now had a new wicked scar to show off, and although it had healed cleanly, it was definitely the sort of thing that drew women like flies to honey.

Molly was thankful, really, that she and Harry had always remained so distant from the Council and Edinburgh itself. Both had bad memories of the place, and didn't like spending time there, which had limited their exposure to Peabody and his mind-screwing ink.

She was brought out of her reverie by a knock on the door. It swung open, and in strode a young man of about 18, with a mop of shaggy black hair, a devil-may-care grin on his face, and a fading scar on his forehead. He looked a bit haggard, but getting healthier.

She thought he looked familiar...

"Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Harry Dresden."

"What is this regarding?" she asked, still trying to place him.

"He made a job offer a few years back, and I wanted to see if it was still open."

The office door opened behind him, and in strode Harry, some sort of goo covering his duster that he was trying to wipe off.

"Remember when I said I'd never do slime demons again? I lied." he said, looking vaguely irritated. He was suddenly aware of the kid standing in the room, and stopped, looking down at him.

"Harry?"

"Hey, kid. Long time no see."

"Yeah, that whole Dark Lord hunting you thing gets old after a while."

"Does it ever. Where's Padfoot?"

"When he heard I was coming here, he took himself on a tour of the world's hottest beaches. I believe he was starting in the French Riviera."

"A man after my own heart. Or rather, my skull's heart."

There was a pause.

"Longshanks?"

"Pronglet."

The two men embraced. Molly looked at the two.

"What the hell is going on here?"

They looked at her, eyebrows cocked.

"That offer of a job still open?" the younger man asked.

"Depends on if Molly's been keeping up with the phone messages. Molly?"

"Mrs. Lanstride got back to us, she said the full exorcism is fine. Dr. Abernathy is asking about his dentist's chair, apparently it's possessed. And Captain Luccio called. Said she needs a meet in the next week or so for quarterly review." she said, determined not to make an idiot out of herself in front of this guy. This cute, _sexy_ guy. _Damnit._

"Well, the receptionist job is out."

"Damn, I look so good in a mini-skirt."

"I'm half-tempted to have you prove it, but I don't have enough brain bleach in my closet."

"Don't hate me because I'm beautiful."

"Looks like the job of snarky private detective is wide open, though."

"_Here's lookin' at you, kid."_

* * *

_I appreciate the reviews, people. Like all stories I've written, the beginning is easy, and the ending is monstrously hard. I know I've mucked about with the timeline a bit (Paranet, anyone?) but I reassure you this is definitely not Jim Butcher's work. He would have tortured Harry Dresden _far_ more than I have._


End file.
